


The Weapons of Warmth, Part I

by Copper_Wires, sifjarlit



Series: The Weapons of Warmth [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Epiphanies, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-22 23:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16607069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copper_Wires/pseuds/Copper_Wires, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifjarlit/pseuds/sifjarlit
Summary: This being an account and correspondence, most royal and secret, of one Thor Odinson, a prince and sometime hero, and his brother, one Loki Laufeyson, not quite a prince, and yet princely in his ambitions. Raised as brothers, our two princes have their fates laid out, even as boys: one, to be king, and the other, to serve the native land from which he was taken, and to return under oath to forge a treaty between two warring kingdoms, to be a son of two worlds. A most difficult task it was, to find the letters below, and to weave the story that follows, in these most interesting times.Consider this fair warning: for what follows is an account of secrets forged in the heart of the world, of the burdens of kings, of fire and fury, and of the coldest hearts, which can only be pierced by the weapons of warmth.





	1. A Correspondence Between Princes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a love story, and a labor of love. I had the opportunity to complete this fic (and is complete, don't let that unfinished chapter count scare you!) for the Thorki Big Bang 2018, and jumped on it at once, but in all truth this story was started in December 2017. It was written by, laughed about, sighed over, and generally labored upon by myself and my collaborator, Sifjarlit. I want to thank her first of all, my other half in all senses, for this story being what it is. When we started writing we had no idea how much this tale would delight and surprise us. This story is adapted from roleplay logs between the two of us, some of which are still being edited. There are several short novels worth of writing in our collected, unedited chain of writing; this first section will run about five chapters and about 50,000 words. In total, just for this first "book" in the series that we've decided to call The Weapons of Warmth, things might well tip past 150,000 words. I'm so, so excited for you all to see where this story goes and finally share it with the world. 
> 
> I want to thank the organizers of the Thorki Big Bang for this incredible fandom event, and the members of my discord server for making me laugh and feel the most welcomed I've ever felt in a fandom space. I want to thank malefeministthor on tumblr for her incredible art collaboration, and for the friends who have had to hear the two of us buzzing about this story for over a year without ever seeing much of it. 
> 
> And finally, I want to thank you, dear reader, and will say that I hope you like our story. Its authors love it very much.

[art by malefeministthor on tumblr](https://malefeministthor.tumblr.com/)

_**This being an account and correspondence, most royal and secret, of one Thor Odinson, a prince and sometime hero, and his brother, one Loki Laufeyson, not quite a prince, and yet princely in his ambitions. Raised as brothers, our two princes have their fates laid out, even as boys: one, to be king, and the other, to serve the native land from which he was taken, and to return under oath to forge a treaty between two warring kingdoms, to be a son of two worlds. A most difficult task it was, to find the letters below, and to weave the story that follows, in these most interesting times.** _

_**Consider this fair warning: for what follows is an account of secrets forged in the heart of the world, of the burdens of kings, of fire and fury, and of the coldest hearts, which can only be pierced by the weapons of warmth.** _

 

* * *

 

Dear Thor,

 

I had it all in my head that I would wait a long time before writing you because you being an idiot would probably forget and it would be a good laugh to guilt you about it. However it is horrible here and I am fairly sure I will be dead within this very week and so I am writing this to you as a goodbye letter. I am now quite sure that father has abandoned me entirely as I have only gotten one raven from him asking after my possessions (which he had sent over from home after me, the long way), and about the state of my health (which is poor obviously as I am in fact dying or will most likely die within the week as mentioned.)  I responded politely enough to father’s raven, as I fear that if I let on about my true state he would not hesitate to put the blame on the people of Jotunheim in some way, and to initiate such a thing of course would not be diplomatic behavior on my part. Or perhaps if he did not blame the Jotuns he would instead blame me and my weak constitution, which, though proven true through my impending Death would also be most shameful to admit even from beyond the grave.

Therefore I confide only in you, my dear brother, to say that this place is horrible in every way; the sun does not shine and my clothes look strange and the food is bland and bitter, and I am expected to rise very early every day to take a brisk walk across the palace grounds to “strengthen myself against the cold.” I also seem to have arrived here much later than all the other students and young ambassadors as not one person my own age has paid any attention to me other than a perfunctory greeting; after meals and during my free hours I am shut up all alone in my chambers and have even started to miss Volstagg and Hogun, which is how I know I must surely be on the brink of death.

Nevertheless as I know you have a knack for barging in after me whenever I am in trouble I want to assure you my dear brother that the dying I will be doing will be entirely of my own accord. I am planning on dying mostly of homesickness but also perhaps of hunger striking since as I mentioned the food here is entirely awful. From what I have read dying from a broken heart is faster but I don't want to do that and am not sure how to go about it, as I believe I am still too young to fall in love with just about anyone. Maybe in a few years if I am still suffering here I will give it a go. I hope you are well and I miss you so much that it is stupid to write about so I won't even try. Anyways I hope you have a beautiful long life and many children, etc. and that mother maybe gets a new son for you to have as a brother. Also I am excelling at my studies, obviously, so far, which is impressive because I am also dying.  Do not tell mother and father my plans of dying from homesickness or I will hate you forever. 

I like you so much as you know also don't show this letter to Sif.

 

Goodbye forever, 

Loki

 

* * *

 

Little brother,

 

If you die know that I will be very upset indeed but of course I will keep a secret. Just be sure not to die.

Of course I am keeping your letters to myself as well as they are private correspondence. This one is beneath my pillow so I may read it before slumber and feel as though we are talking. The room is already very lonely without you and the bed is cold. It has been like that since we stopped sharing but it is worse now because you cannot sneak in. Also Lord Bjornson says he has already noticed my penmanship is worse now that you are gone so I must write you for practice. Therefore you have to stay alive to read them and tell me how stupid I sound. See how it is all already arranged.

In all truth, I miss you very terribly and wish to see you as soon as I can. It is lonesome without you and my sparring companions are not the same as my best brother and friend! I would hate for mother to have another son because I would not want to see you replaced ever, and if she tried to I would have to best him in combat obviously even if he were only a babe in arms. I am getting much better with the practice sword if not with the pen and will show you as soon as you return.

I like you so much also of course and am excited for your next letter.

 

Love,

Thor

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Thor,

 

I would like to apologize, most formally, for the tone of my last letter. I hope it caused you no great distress. Only I was very miserable at the time on account of all the misery and such, etc. Byleistr told me what I was doing is called “yearning”. He is a frost giant and much taller than me and I don’t think you’d like him very much. He refers to me as a “sun rat” which I have gleaned is a reference to the amount of sunlight we get back home versus here. (But it’s a bit silly because I suppose since Jotunheim is so much bigger than Asgard the AMOUNT of sunlight might be the same and it just has less of it to go around? Confusing.) 

It sank in for me the other day just how final this arrangement is and moreover how foolish it was of me to be so worked up about events that I have known would unfold for years in advance. Perhaps that is why I decided not to die of homesickness and/or a broken heart.  I just have a feeling it wouldn’t take and then I would just be so miserable being halfway dead!

And now that it’s all sorted and such you should tell me what to write to you about. What I want to know from you is: how is mother, has that cat in the stable had its babies yet and was I right to say that a cat with a white furred mama and a black furred father will not necessarily be black and white spotted, how tall are you now right now at this moment, and do you miss me very much.  You can ask me anything about Jotunheim as they haven’t told me any secrets yet so I don’t know. They have showed me the casket though and it is something else AND they let me touch it!!! I forgot to put that at the top of the letter but I know you were so curious as to what it looks like and I wanted you to know that I kept my promise and got a look at it right away. It is a sort of blue glowing chest and when I touch it I go blue as well. To be honest I am always blue here actually but please don’t imagine me like that ever. I checked in the mirror today and I can still go back to myself and I practice it every day to be sure. And if you want to know what I look like I’ll describe it to you. 

I think I am bad at writing letters but thankfully it doesn’t matter because so are you, and mother and father send ravens. 

 

Love you I suppose,

Loki

 

P.S. Is it very strange for you to write out Love like that? I have never written it out to a person until just now. It makes me feel like a lady who sits by her window and sighs and such.

 

* * *

 

 

Loki whom I love and miss so,

 

Of course it is not strange for me to put to paper that I love you. But then I have not had so much practice as you have pretending to be a lady who sits by her window and sighs when I believe no one is around to see me. (On my honor I will not tell anyone your secret.) I am glad you are not going to die.

Mother is doing well and we both miss you terribly. She says I will have to stop moping and be strong about it but I can see that she is lonely too since we are both without a very dear friend. You did not ask but father is gruff and boring as usual. Sif is trying to get him to let her spar with me and the other boys. I hope he will let her even if her parents do not like it because on any day of the week she can knock me and any other boy flat. Indeed yesterday in the barn she did so with a broken broomstick when I was caught unawares and made me look very silly before everyone with hay in my hair.

And speaking of the barn, the kittens are here and they are lovely and you were mostly right but there is a black and white spotted one who is a beautiful boy. I have named him for you and he is my companion. That is another thing mother says I should not have a cat named for my brother but it is nice to talk to him when the evenings are long. I hope you do not mind or think I am replacing you because that is not what I mean. Anyway I spell his name with an _E_ and not an _I_ so it is a little different and I hope you are not offended. He has blue eyes. 

At this very moment I am standing five feet and seven inches tall and very eager for the growth I am supposed to have soon. Fandral has outpaced me and is almost six feet but I am sure I will be taller than him by the time we are men. Of course I miss you very terribly as I have said already but I will say so again to answer your question.

Of course I have one big question and it is that I would like for you to tell me what you look like. I will tell you what I look like though it is no different than usual. I have blond hair to my shoulders that is the color of straw and I am pale skinned with pinkish cheeks and rather round about the edges as you well know. As you know also this enables me to give very good hugs and were you here I would deliver one to you. I have some spots about my forehead and chin as well unfortunately which I debated telling you. But then I thought perhaps it would bring you some joy to think of your very ugly brother and to laugh at my expense is not so bad if it would make you smile out there in the cold.

My other questions are what are your favorite things about Jotunheim and is it true they eat Aesir for breakfast. If this is not true what kind of foods do they eat instead and are they truly as bad as you said in your first letter. I know you said you were hunger striking but I am sure you have eaten by now. Also are there any strange animals and what are their names.

Tell this Byleistr character that if he calls you a sun rat any longer I will come and show him one and it will be very unpleasant for him indeed. You are good at writing letters and they make me happy.

 

Love,

Thor

 

* * *

 

Dear Thor,

 

I have decided I like writing letters mostly because I often forget what I wrote you about in the first place so seeing you reply and being reminded is a nice treat. I read the part of your last letter about your appearance to some of my new friends (NOT Byleistr and yes I have friends here now! More on this later) because none of them could believe that anyone could have hair the color of gold. I refuse to use the word straw which is not accurate whatsoever, but since I am trying to get better at the language of my people I explained it to them in the Jötun tongue and some of them may be under the impression that you actually have gold growing on your head. I wish I could have a little painting of you or some sort of thing to prove to them that you are real. I have mostly gotten over my homesickness and I know father would never allow it but I wish you could come and see me sometimes. Most of the friends I have made are older than me by several years and it does get a bit lonely to not have anyone young to talk to. There is one witch from the southern part of Jotunheim who I have gotten along famously with and she has a whole brood of younger siblings who make mischief around the palace and it made me lonely for you even as I was watching them in her company. Allegedly she is from royal stock like me but I have not seen her name in any of the official ledgers. I would know as I have nearly memorized most of the important family lines; I am trying very hard to embrace my duties which I am learning are actually very important indeed.

Anyways, to your questions in the last letter: for the most part I look much the same as I always do. My hair is getting longer as I have decided to grow it out in the fashion of young frost giants. Boys and girls alike wear it very long here and some will even have a braid that goes right down to the floor which I will NOT be doing. I do wear a lot of different clothes now not because I have grown out of mine but because my Asgardian clothing made me stick out like a sore thumb. I told mother about this and she has taken to weaving different patterns for me more in the fashion of the Jotuns which was very kind of her. They have not arrived yet and so I had to borrow some clothing from one of the tutors here who thankfully is Vanir and therefore only a bit larger than me, and I can fit into many of his old robes. His name is Kvasir and he is not even a proper scholar I think anyways and is very slight and walks in an arrogant way sort of like Fandral. Can you imagine, me, brother in a long tunic belonging to some Vanir bookworm! Along with the tunics he has lent me velvet slippers with curled ends and a large fur for outdoors…I look a little foolish and yet not more foolish than I did in my Aesir leathers.

As for my favorite things about Jotunheim, I must say that the longer I keep my Jotun skin on the longer I find the climate suits me. I don't get cold here much at all anymore and indeed I prefer the weather here sometimes to that of Asgard only because it is so nice to never be too warm. There are roaring fires in the hall every night which are very nice and remind me of you somehow. Jotuns do not eat Aesir for breakfast which I feel I did tell you many times before I left and which I will tell you again now. For the most part there are meats eaten and cooked at different temperatures than we eat and cook at, and many more pickled things and things that can be stored in a cold dry place. Most of the vegetables are not vegetables at all and are more often things like cabbage and mushrooms and such. Also when meat is eaten there are many more parts of the animal used than we used on Asgard and indeed we even cook with the blood, which took some getting used to but which can be tasty if prepared correctly. No strange animals so far aside from my classmates (ha ha!) but I have not left the palace grounds. This may change soon however! I have to be up early tomorrow as we are traveling to the next city over to meet their heads of state. Hopefully they will not mind me in my Asgardian finery as I refuse point blank to wear borrowed clothing to something so important. In any case I really would write lots more but it's very late.

 

Miss you very dearly always etc., and all my love,

Loki 

 

* * *

 

 

Loki Long-Haired,

I am very sorry to have delayed in writing but as you can see it is because I did not wish to send my letter off without its enclosure! I hope I have not left you lonely. Attached you will find a small portrait as you asked. It is nothing very grand or special but surely it will serve as evidence that I am real to your new companions whom I hope are treating you well and kindly. Try not to weep with longing too bitterly over it. (I am only teasing.) It would please me greatly if you could send similar in return though I understand of course if you cannot. 

It sounds like they must be keeping you very busy there in Jotunheim with many things of great import which I am glad to hear. You must be learning many fascinating new spells and I would love to hear of them. As for me I have begun in addition to my lessons in language and history and such to examine tactical maneuvers with some of the Einherjar. It is much more theory right now than I would like of course and is a little boring but I am told it will become more interesting when I am older.

We had a bit of an incident the other day which while stemming from me I do not believe was all my fault. It certainly was not my intent to cause harm. It was really not too terrible and no one was hurt but I am awfully embarrassed and have shown my face little in the court for fear of making a further mockery of myself. I see that I will have to work more greatly at self-control and hope that I can manage. I wish that you were here.

Mother encloses clothes as you can see and says she hopes you like them. I do as well though I was having rather a good laugh at the idea of you going round in clothes hanging off you as you described. Loke the cat says hello as well. You did not mention him in your last response so I hope you are not too upset with the fact of him. If you are offended I suppose it is not too late to rename him though he has gotten rather big and has a most charming and mischievous personality.

I must make haste to have this letter placed with mother's parcel so I will sign off now. Of course I miss you as usual and am eager for your reply. All my love is yours as ever.

Love,  
Thor

 

* * *

 

Thor, 

 

First of all, do send mother my thanks. I already thanked her by raven but hearing it from you as well is what her fine work deserves. Second of all thank you very much for the portrait; I think it is a fine one indeed no matter what you say. The other students were quite taken with it; you should have seen them! All gathering around and not just my friends too I mean everyone. It is with me now but I try not to look at it too often as I think only looking at a portrait will make my memories of you resemble it more and more. Currently the image I have of you in my mind's eye is more vivid than that which I have in paint, and I plan to keep it so. 

Third, I do hope you are taking the time to read this before viewing the attached parcel, but as I know you and self control do not often travel hand in hand–as you admitted yourself in your last letter!–you have most likely not done that. In any case now you are more than welcome to do so and will find a portrait with quite a story behind it indeed. The primary concern is that the portrait artist being a Jotun himself had no real skill in figuring my skin (the Jotun skin as I mentioned earlier I refuse point blank to wear anywhere within sight of you.) Moreover even the pigments he used to mix the paint in my proper hue were rare and quite unknown to him! Imagine. Therefore after several failed attempts at a color portrait I simply gave up and have instead attempted to transfigure a once-blue painting with magic. I feel it is an appropriate image of me, although a bit of poetic license seems to have been taken with the partial bareness of the chest which I assure you is traditional and meant to display my hereditary marks. If you flash the portrait under the sun you can see the imprints of them like scars on me since the color-changing spell does not quite account for differences in value, only hue. These errors I apologize for and it all seems a bit silly now since it was merely a passing fancy between the two of us to have portraits done at all, but done they are! And with the rate you grow I'm sure you'll need a new one in a few months.

Also I'm glad the cat is fine, let me get  _that_ in before you think I've gone and forgotten him again. I think it's very sweet that he's named for me. There are no pets allowed here, although I hear that since my first season here is nearly through–can you believe it!–I may have a chance to move in with some other students if I so desire, or rather move to the part of the residence that is more populous of students. I think I will, as, despite my best efforts, I find myself more prone to sneak back to my room and pen this letter to you than I am to socialize with my peers. As I am meant to be a future diplomat you can see the problem immediately. I know it was early fall when I left, is it getting much brisker there? The weather here is much the same but as I have said before, I like it. That is all I can bring myself to say about the weather because it all seems so mundane and what I really want to know is how you're feeling. For myself I've been so busy that I think missing home has become mostly impossible and moreover although I sorely wish I could return to Asgard there is something good about feeling as though I have a place here, if only in terms of my duties. I hope also that you know that all the unkind words we might have exchanged in the lead-up to my departure were not deeply felt; I've been thinking on that lately and find it troubling that you might still remember some of them at all. So I hope you can forgive me brother and I do hope you keep to your training and take good care of yourself.

 

All my love, etc. and tenderness of course also,

Loki

 

* * *

 

Loki!

 

I was so pleased by your portrait as well. Had you not told me I would have no idea it was so bewitched. It looked lovely as of course did your likeness, though I will admit it was strange (not bad!) to see so much of your skin given your favored attire. I did look for the lines you pointed out and believe I have found them. They looked very fine and I hope one day you will allow me to see them in their actuality as I am very interested in the knowledge they may have brought you of yourself. I am also glad to note that I was correct in thinking long hair suited you. Mother has been fluttering over how handsome and grown you appear all day. 

It has gotten cooler here but we are not yet to your preferred temperature, and I am sure we will get nowhere near the climes of Jotunheim. I am happy to hear you are trying to make friends and am sure that you must be very popular there even with your inclinations to slink about. I do not mean to pry, but I am sure that the young ladies there have taken interest in you as well? Do not feel pressure to answer as I would not want to intrude. 

As for how I am feeling, I cannot complain. I move ever forward in my training of course. In my studies Lord Bjornsson has ridden me so heavily over my poor grammar of late that I have made an attempt to improve and do hope you notice so. Father has indeed permitted Sif to begin enlistment practices on condition that she best me once in combat, and though I did put up my best fight in order to make things fair, she beat me soundly. I am eager to fight alongside such a dear friend. Of course I miss you but I am very glad to hear you are not overwhelmed with homesickness and are doing well in the day-to-day. I am sure you will serve the kingdom beautifully as an ambassador. 

Best love as always and best wishes. 

 

Love,  
Thor

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Thor,

 

Well. I hope that mother wasn't  _too_  excited about the portrait, as I may have...irritated the court painter. Unsure if it will become a regular occurrence. I must admit that in waiting for your letter I got very nervous indeed wondering if it had put you off writing me in general and might have jinxed his painter's tools a few times. If you ever get a chance to see the new diplomatic portraits of the Vanir ambassadors to Jotunheim, do relay to me whether they are the same brilliantly ugly shades of orange and purple that they departed the studio in, won't you? In any case I suppose it's an unfair thing to send each other portraits of such a kind when the real thing is always much better, and anyways your vanity has never needed encouraging, dear brother. 

As to your question of young ladies...it feels much stranger to write about this than it does to talk about it, somehow, not that we were every very good at discussing our affairs (and by that I mean neither of us were ever very good at lying to each other about them, since unless I am much mistaken, you and I parted ways still very green in the ways of love). But I assure you that I hold as much interest here as you probably do in Asgard, and will leave it at that unless I feel the need to make an announcement of some kind, which I doubt I will, as I focus on my studies. I suggest you do the same, brother, although I am sure Sif's presence in both the court and on the sparring-ground has raised some eyebrows. 

By the way, speaking of sparring, I do wish you could see how my technique with my daggers has improved. Very few things that happen to my on Jotunheim feel entirely  _natural;_  even when I find myself enjoying what I learn, it takes learning, but there is a combat style here (common to women, if you'd believe it, but I am so small that apparently it suited me) which is an extension of how I have always preferred to fight, and in the past few weeks I've moved up the ranks quite nicely. You can ask father about it if you like, I've sent him a detailed account of what I've learned. Indeed I wonder if you talk to father much about my letters, for after telling him absolutely everything I've achieved of a given month or week I'm almost worn out on new information to give you. But I suppose that's how it is, isn't it? And at one point or another your days will probably be so busy that you'll forget to write me. I wonder if father knew that when he sent me away, sometimes...do you think so? I promise I'm not trying to guilt you, for I miss you terribly; but letters do seem a very cold (ha!) substitute for really being together. I wonder if perhaps we could bend the rules a bit and arrange a visit for you... 

It's late and I am moody, maybe? Or perhaps it's the wine I had at dinner. It's very good here, you know. They mull it with spices like we do in the winter and it has sort of a plum taste to all of it. Anyways.

Love you I suppose,

Loki 

 

* * *

 

 

Little troublemaker,

 

Apologies for my delayed response, especially to the painter who suffered as a result of my tardiness. We believe we may be moving soon into dwarvish territory with news of a skirmish at the border of Svartalfheim which may require intervention of a sort appropriate for a more junior battalion such as ours. I am nervous I suppose but eager as well for my first taste of battle. No sure word on the matter yet but we are training heavily to be prepared for anything that arrives.

I will begin by saying that the portraits sent following yours were, indeed, the ugliest I'd ever seen, and Father was openly shocked. Mother was also but she certainly seemed only to be pretending, and I caught her laughing later, as I did as well. They were tremendously funny but I do hope you can get back into the painter's graces as the work otherwise seemed very fine, for all I know of art and portraiture and such. Attached please find a work of my own to display my profound expertise.

As for Sif, and that situation, well -- I would be lying to say I never had any interest in her, I suppose, but I believe I would be rather a fool to pursue it as things stand, though her family and Mother and Father all seem to believe the match a fated one. Certainly eyebrows are raised, as you say. There is something between she and I that I think would make us a very unhappy couple were we to be wedded, though I don't know what it is and of course she remains a dear and beloved friend. Perhaps this is too intimate for this sort of letter, but I'm unsure who else to talk to about it. It seems everyone else expects me to up and marry the moment Father sees fit to have me crowned. I haven't knowledge enough to navigate any of it.

I would like very much to see you. I have inquired some to Father with regard to what you write to him about, but he has said that matters of the crown of that sort are not yet my concern which makes me feel rather put out. I would hate to ask that you copy them for my benefit as well, but I doubt that I will see any information of this type otherwise. At any rate I crave your company and miss very much my closest confidant especially in times like these.

 

Yours with much love and longing,

Thor

 

* * *

 

Thor,

 

Please excuse my lack of a formal letter but upon hearing of your intent to go to Svartalfheim I had to get this out at once. Please be careful is all and don't do anything stupid. I have many letters I still want to write you and many things I want to say and they won't be worth a thing if you're dead.

 

Yours always,

Loki

 

* * *

 

Loki,

 

I implore you to write me as you ordinarily would, if you don't mind. It is not that I do not appreciate your concern, but rather that I have little for it, here, as there is not much comfort to be offered from the battlefield. I am sure you have guessed that the cause of my delay is the fact that war-making gives one little time to write. I hope I have not worried you deeply and hope that this letter finds its way appropriately to its destination. Svartalfheim is, in short, a miserable hole. It is bettered for the companionship of my brothers in arms, but none of that changes the fact that there is little light and that we fight underground, which is stifling like nothing you would ever believe. I am a more than effective soldier but find my abilities distressingly dampened due to the environment. There is little I can do outside of blunt force. My very veins seem to itch. I hope Jotunheim treats you well and that you are not so very sorry to be there as you were when you arrived. It pains me to consider such a prolonged unhappiness. I hope to find us soon returned to each other intact.

 

Love,

Thor

 

* * *

 

 

Dear Thor,

 

I hope this letter reaches you well. It is so hard to imagine it–you, brother, underground! I am sorry for how frantic I must have appeared in my last note, and I am more level-headed now as I write to you, but I know how even a long time indoors used to distress you when we were boys, and how before we understood the cause it would be my duty to sneak us out into the gardens. No gardens to sneak into in the dwarf-realm, I know. Perhaps as you are trying to fall asleep, pretend I am about to wake you up at any moment and use the passageway behind the third linen closet to take us outside so we can trample all of mother's roses. Or perhaps it would be worse to imagine it so. I have learned, from my friends here, that much of what I understood about war and warlike behavior growing up was not quite accurate. It sounds like a lot of sitting around and waiting, and so I will try to send you a nice long letter to keep you entertained in the quiet moments between battles. Also, if you do not want to write me about the battles themselves, do not feel you have to. I understand obviously and also mostly just like to hear from you. It is strange that every conversation we have has just become about filling each other in on our lives, as we used to talk about so many different things.

In any case. I am as of now about halfway through my evening studies and am very sick of them but it is a temporary sickness. In most cases I find myself more and more engaged with what I am doing here, mostly in trying to become a better diplomat. The history and political science lessons are quite easy but it is in rhetoric that I have some difficulty, which I thought might make you laugh as I have never been one to run short of things to say. However as I am learning there is a difference between having _something_ to say and being able to say the _right_ thing or, more often than not as I have discovered, to say nothing at all. In debate I often find myself too confident or too passive. The other day there was a moment when I was meant to be convincing my speaking-partner that an imaginary trade deal was to their advantage, and stumbled over myself so much that by the end of it, I was arguing for _their_ position better than for my own. Kvasir tells me I am "slippery." You remember I mentioned him once? He's the Vanir instructor who lent me my first Jotun clothes upon my arrival and I must say I think I had him all wrong at first writing him off as some useless academic. Indeed he is very kind and patient with me and has a soft way of speaking, and blue eyes which I only mention as he is the only one in this entire realm who seems to not be glaring scarlet at me. Anyways he is nice enough and will sometimes allow me to sit in his study and read on especially windy days when the rest of my peers are making fools of themselves tramping around in the ice. I think you would like Kvasir very much and I must say I feel very grown up having someone like him as a friend. If having these sorts of friendships is what leaving boyhood is like then I greatly prefer it to my youth. We talk mostly about literature which he has a wonderful collection of, having travelled very far and wide across the realms and into strange places. Most of the chambers and studies of the tutors here are quite expansive but Kvasir has chosen to live quite humbly, and in exchange has been granted space for a large personal library, which I have been to. There are books on many subjects there including some quite lascivious ones which he has quite rightly not shown me. Perhaps it will cheer you up to know that, according to him, the love poetry of the dwarves contains many inappropriate references to mushrooms. I did ask Kvasir if I could send you one of the pamphlets of strange poetry he has in his collection but as I expected he turned me down most politely. The one I wish I could send you was not poetry at all but instead contained drawings etched in a sort of luminescent green ink which are magicked to adjust to the specific cones and rods of your eye and form whichever shade of green is considered most pleasurable for you to personally see. It's a very clever poem since when one thinks about it, it is not just the _type_ of green that we see which will be different, but indeed it is impossible to know if the color you think of as green and the color I think of as green are the same color. I had to think on it for quite a while after I looked at it. The green I saw was a very light, glassy color, almost blue, like the crests of the sea. Mostly I just would have wanted to ask you what color your green was.

In any case, if you are bored in the moments between battle do try to write to me. I am doing much better here now after so more than a year and I feel older and wiser but I do wonder when I will do the most important things a young man is supposed to do at this age. I myself have not seen my first battle and much like you I have never found an interest in any lady. Which I suppose is perhaps a mark of our maturity and focus as princes, since I know father raised us to be well-mannered and not let our eyes wander, or to be consumed in acts of lust etc. I am not particularly worried about being consumed in any acts of lust and you, my dear brother, are likely in your current location to be upstaged by passing mushrooms.

I will not write for too long but in parting I will ask, much more calmly, to please do keep yourself safe. I do not know what I would do if your first battle felled you. I would probably have to come home out of shame officially but I wouldn't be ashamed really just would miss you. You are quite a warrior even without any powers at all and I hope you know it and I hope your enemies learn it the hard way.

 

All my love,

Loki

 

* * *

 

Dearest Loki,

 

I have read over your letter more times than I can count, till my eyes glazed and I grew weary. You are right that battle is largely waiting. I was wrong myself -- I understood war to be much more celebratory than this, but we are all wrung to the bone with exhaustion, and there is little time or desire for raucousness. We fall into our cups and then to sleep. The quietude grates. You understand then the pleasure of having your words available to me. In the day I keep your letter folded beneath my breastplate for safekeeping, and to feel I have an ally close by. Of course I have my friends, but there is a difference. I hope you take my meaning as I am not entirely sure what I mean myself. I am delighted to hear that you take joy in your studies and that your tutor has become a friend to you. I have spread your news of mushrooms about the camp and wish you to know that it garnered much laughter and has brought some lightness to the battleground. Would that we had your silver tongue to keep us buoyant. I have little to write that is not awfully dreary, I am afraid. It is dark and dry. The battle rages. We have lost few men yet, but the sights are unpleasant anyway, and they stick in the mind so a man hardly has the respite of his dreams. Were I to read the poem you describe, I think that my green would be emerald.

 

Yours,

Thor

 

* * *

 

Thor,

 

Brother, I can tell you are in quite a state indeed if you are writing so well and so carefully to me. I do wish I was there by your side but I also think we would most likely irritate each other within a few hours of closeness. Perhaps that would also be nice. I am glad to see your tendency to pick petty arguments with your allies is not something you have carried underground with you. This is mostly a quick note after dinner but I was very eager to send a prompt reply as it would appear my letters are bringing you no end of comfort in your dreary setting. My surroundings are not quite as warlike and dim as yours of course however I must say that like you I believe my day to day life would be greatly improved by your presence. In nearly a year here I have had no friendships that approach the one we shared together as brothers which is quite a shame as I have prided myself on leaving all the most emotional attachments to home behind me. In some ways I wonder if this was father's plan all along for indeed it is you and perhaps mother who truly make me still feel like a citizen of Asgard. I know we talked about it some when I was last there but I wonder what it is like for you to truly know you are of one place and one family and one line. It is not with envy that I write anymore and I do apologize now for all the times I began arguments between us to this matter (out of jealousy, etc.) but now I am simply curious and think on it much when I have a free moment which is not often.

In any case you see where my mind is. it is in Asgard, as it was (much more stubbornly) when I first came here. The prospect of years of study ahead of me have not done much to change that and I sometimes wish that I could say a proper goodbye to our home without so many tears and dramatic shouting matches ETC. which I believe I have outgrown in just a short span of time. What do you miss the most? Perhaps we could keep each other entertained as we once did when I would sneak into our room and perch at the end of the bed and pretend I was performing a puppet show for you over the edge of the bedpost. With our socks and blankets and so-on as puppets; I'm sure you remember. I was quite good at it I think even then. We relived quite a few exciting tales that way and sometimes when things get difficult or I learn of some dark state secret or uncomfortable history in my studies I must admit I close my eyes and pretend I was in that room making a fool of myself so you would laugh.

Anyways. If I was there right now I am sure I would pull a laugh out of you yet, brother. I have sent a raven to mother recently and she assures me all is well at home, and even finally admitted to the fact that your fat little barn cat who you named for me is indeed a part of the household, and she is keeping him quite well fed, which I am sure will please you. Although I have learned much of the giants perhaps pretend that I am enacting a great tale about our defeat of them, standing at the end of your bed. You always took such an interest in those tales and I knew from the start it was due to your predisposition for war and warlike ways. And see! You will do war upon those dwarves yet, and will triumph, and it will be the first of many battles that you will win. (Do try to be safe, as I said before.)

Kvasir has asked to see my letters to you and I must say I refused even though (and this is nothing against their craft) their content is the furthest thing from incriminating. Perhaps I just wish to have secrets again. He was only trying to help me and got quite a laugh over how loudly I refused, and offered up several books of poetry to me to aid in my writing, which I also refused. No bewitched manuscripts to send you either once again, but I am glad to hear that your favorite green is emerald. Mine is as well. I have been looking into the art of letter-writing and have been surprised to learn that letters between siblings, unless they contain vital details about some drama in some court or other, rarely make the history books. Absurd! I assure you that I will become such a good diplomat that all our letters will be worthy of history, and you must ensure also that your deeds are worth of setting down to me in writing and preserving. As you keep your letter by your chest, I keep mine _in_ a chest, a small wooden one, in my chambers. These have become much less lonely of late as I have finally accepted the offerings of my Jotun friends and spread furs as carpets across the floors. Although I find it slightly barbaric and prefer mother's weaving I must admit it is warm indeed.

Anyways brother, I will leave you with this request: do tell me of your exploits, at least a little! I know you say battle is _mostly_ dull but I ache to hear of some excitement. Surely the action you have seen must be a little glorious, and if it has not––seek out glory for the benefit of your poor, bored brother, won't you? I wish it was my job to spill blood rather than to maintain polite relations, sometimes. Perhaps one role becomes the other if one is bad at one's job. I have been reading war novels from Kvasir's library and it seems to amuse him, which I don't mind as it means he allows me to stay all the longer in his study, but they do not compare to the real stories I am sure you could tell me.

Seek glory, brother, and stay safe for me.

 

All my love,

Loki

 

* * *

 

 

Little brother,

 

Here is war for you: I have taken a spear to the shoulder. I will not be pulled home by such triviality, but I will confess to an ache. Without my usual ability I am hindered tremendously as I am sure you will note in my penmanship.

I will try to paint a picture of the scene as you ask, though I do not wish to frighten you, and hope if it becomes so that you will cease reading at once -- creeping through a dark tunnel, the rock scraping the tops of our heads, we came suddenly upon what looked to be a killing-hole, a slaughterhouse of men. We were all of us quite astonished as we had not thought the dwarves to be disposed to such brutality, yet here we stood in bones and blood, quite off the course our maps had predicted. We believed ourselves to be coming to a stronghold of arms; the only arms were those of dead men. 

At any rate our small band was attacked with swiftness, our plotted ambush repaid from behind by a battalion of dwarves who met us with aggression heretofore unmatched. Having led the troop in its intended direction, I was at the back upon our turning, and therefore pressed backward into the darkness as we stumbled back from the enemy. It took some moments to gather back the strength of singularity, during which several men were easily lost.

I will confess now that this was not technically a commanded mission. As its leader I took control, though I now also bear the blame for the lives gone from us. I trust you deeply with this information and crucially that you will not impart it to Mother and Father. I have already been thoroughly dressed-down by our commander and trust that were it not for my blood I would have been discharged dishonorably. And foolish I was to drag innocents into such a ridiculous scheme. I am afraid I can provide reports not of glory but of shame.

My own injury stemmed from the fact that it is easy to creep up behind one granted superior night vision. However, I am not sure whether the dwarves know where our hearts are. I am certain that was the intended target of the weapon. Either way I am alright enough and hope to remain so. I have had no cause to be drawn from the battlefield yet.

On lighter thoughts I am pleased to hear that you have friends, though I admit I must wonder the depth of your feeling toward this tutor, little one! You seem most charmed by him to say the least. I will not probe you on the matter but I did think I would at least inquire. Remembering you makes me feel terribly light and pleased as though I were home with you again. I confess emerald sprung to mind because of you -- the first thing I thought of, on green, and when I close my eyes, is the shade of the long grasses we would play in as boys, and then the shades you prefer for your clothes. And when I dream, and the dreams are not bad, I dream that we are doing so again, running in the sunlight. I write by the fire and it is marvelously warm, and close enough to my face it makes me feel as though it were summer, down here in the dark. And I am reminded of you again and I confess I am occasionally inclined to let out a rather pathetically nostalgic sigh. I am sorry for the trouble that lay between us on your departure and hope dearly that whenever we are reunited we may be properly friends. I am certainly far from the mood to argue.

 

All of my love,

Thor

 

* * *

 

Dear Thor,

 

First off, know that you are a fool–of course you are– and if you get injured even once more I am making it my personal business to come down to whatever forsaken hole you are currently doing battle in and will finish you off myself. Second of all–brother, it would seem that this injury has turned your head! Never in my life have I heard you write so well or so beautifully. If I was not incredibly mad at you on account of your foolish, rash decisions, I would almost be flattered and excited that you have finally decided to put some real effort into your writing. 

All right. Now that all the scolding is done–I will say I hope you make a speedy recovery, and I hope the time injured is spent ruminating on better strategies. As much as it pains me to admit, you do occasionally have a brilliant plan, but you must remember, brother, that nearly anyone would follow you into battle, for you are so convincing and hard to argue with when you have made up your mind. That is not a power to use lightly. I am glad you have learned your lesson and are proceeding with caution, and I do feel a similar tug of nostalgia reading your words. It feels like a hundred years and no time at all since I left, but looking now at our first letters I see how much has changed. I wish I could fill you in on all that I left out! It seems we talked about trivial things for so long. I still have your portrait and look at it sometimes and wonder if you look very much different. DO try not to get any horrible battle scars because then it will be quite worthless. 

I must ask one thing of you–what do you mean about Kvasir? Do you suspect he has ill intent? He has been nothing but polite to me and although he is certainly a charming man (for a Vanir at least) I assure you I am far from _charmed_. Indeed my wits as usual are very much about me, and you have nothing to worry about, for I am well protected here and becoming a better fighter every day. Indeed I think it will not be too long before my first real diplomatic mission, which will make it difficult to write, I am sure, but hopefully you are busy with war and such by then, in any case. I did not tell mother and father of your injury of course but did express my nerves at your being away to war at all, which mother seemed to find amusing. She has such faith in you!

One last thing, brother, before I leave you to your dreams–and please, treat this with the utmost sensitivity. I have a question of you, regarding the dwarves you fight, for I heard snatches of conversation about such a conflict in the halls this afternoon. Indeed I must admit I eavesdropped a little, but it was only because I had not heard a thing of Svartalfheim or its affairs in such a long time, and hearing it discussed in heated terms by two generals of Jotunheim in an empty room quite piqued my curiosity. It was early this morning and I only heard a small portion of their conversation, and I was disguised (very adeptly, I will say) behind a tapestry and could not hear everything. From what I managed to understand, this skirmish you are engaged in is more than only that. One general seemed very concerned and mentioned several names, which I withhold, but seemed to characterize the dwarven battalion as far more organized than you have. What interested me most was something he said of "thieves learning from thieves," for, as I have learned here, "thieves" usually refers to Asgard, and I believe in this case the other set of "thieves" are the dwarves. As it is you who are apparently doing battle upon the dwarves, I find the accusation that they are _learning_ from you concerning and shocking. Perhaps although you are a prince, as a lower officer little of this has come your way, but it all makes me very wary. I do not have more intelligence (nor could I give it if I did, most likely) but I wanted to relay this to you all the same, for perhaps in your time away from battle, you can sit back and observe, try to reason through this conflict and its source. Imagine us, brother, as a team, taking down this entire business with our minds rather than swords! I am sure you would prefer the sword, but I am fascinated to see how it all turns out.

In any case, don't go to too much trouble trying to find things out. I myself have decided to make a project of understanding what on earth you're really doing down in those caves. Father won't tell me much at all. I wish I had some entertaining bit of poetry or some magical thing for you from Kvasir's library, but the news of your injury, brother, has quite preoccupied me. Be safe and well, and keep your eyes ever open.

 

All my love,

Loki

 

* * *

 

Loki-bird,

 

I appreciate your intelligence -- both that which you have gathered and that residing in your head. You are right to guess that this is the first I have heard of such issue on the dwarves' behalf. If I were considered a man to listen to at the moment, I would relay such a thing to our commander, but I have not been permitted his time, and in those snatches I have been privileged after my tremendous folly I have been dismissed out of hand. My opinion is not much of a commodity. As for this tutor of yours, well. I do not mean that he means you _harm_ as such, or even that he harbors ill will, simply that you seem, if you will forgive me, rather enamored. I mean no accusation on your character or any judgment -- I know many such men here who are my brothers in arms as any other, though it is a clandestine thing I suppose -- I confess myself _[struck-through, illegible]_ _[illegible]_  
  
At any rate, I noted interest. That is all. If I am aiming incorrectly do forgive me. I admit I have had a little mead, and am in any case perhaps not my strongest at the moment. You will absolve me of my crimes to language, I hope. I can envision us as you say, heads together, though I am sure I would be prone to distraction were we holed up doing research as I know is your beloved pastime. But I would be pleased to have the hours with you, or the moments. It is rather lonely staying at camp much of the day with the medics and the injured (I suspect this is much more a punishment than because of my own wound). I hope you fare well, and please do report with anything new you are led to find out.

 

All my love, of course,

Thor

 

* * *

 

Your Highness,

 

No one else seems to see fit to inform you, so I will, since you are nearly all your brother speaks of. I expect you will repay me by failing to report insubordination. I gleaned your posting address from Thor's letters but assure you on my honor that I have not read a one of them save the outside. Thor is being pulled from battle on account of illness. I do not know whether he told you or not, but he had a puncture wound in his shoulder which has now grown infected. I expect he will make a recovery in a palace infirmary, but of course you understand such a thing would not be possible here in the tunnels. I am in no position to argue for your visitation but guessed that you might like to do so yourself if you can manage.

 

Yours in service,

Sif Øvesdottír

Oðinnsherlið

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small note worth adding: Loki is just a little older than 12 at the start of this, and Thor is 14. They're babies, pretty much! I didn't originally note this but I figured I'd emphasize in case it was confusing or unclear.


	2. In Which Loki Makes A Discovery

Ironically, the first thing Loki noticed upon returning to Asgard was the cold.

Of course this was nothing like the cold of Jotunheim, and Loki knew better than to compare the two. But the seasons on Asgard had turned, and passed, and turned again since Loki’s departure, and perhaps it was his failure to keep good time that resulted in his shock when, despite his fond memories of sun-streaked castle walls, what Asgard instead provided him was the pervasive dampness of an early spring. As Loki nodded to Heimdall and emerged from the Bifrost gate alone -- he had adamantly refused the Jotun security detail offered to him -- a cold breeze cut across the open stretches of sky and pricked at the side of his face, feeling halfway between sea-spray and a shock of ice. No welcome committee had awaited him, and the cold was all Loki could think about as he rode to the center of his home, escorted by a pair of royal guards. And if his eyes were stinging as he walked into the palace wrapped in a fur cloak, if he had averted his eyes from its golden tiers and sniffled loudly into his sleeve, _well_. That had been the damp air, of course, and the speed of the ride; or perhaps he was disused to wearing this form after so many long months as a Jotun. The guards had, thankfully, ignored this; Loki had never met either of them before, another strange occurrence, since most of the palace guards of his youth knew him by name. But they’d been polite enough, and more importantly, they had let him be as quiet as he wished, and had slipped away the moment they had reached the stables.

Loki had requested ahead of time that Heimdall not alert his parents to his arrival, although how much time that would buy him was anyone's guess. In all honesty, the fact that his parents were not there to meet him at the Bifrost in spite of his attempts at secrecy seemed to bode very well for Thor's condition. Surely a more intense bedside manner would be adopted, in the case of something serious.

Loki considered all this as he stood alone in his room for the first time in three years. The chambers were nearly identical to how he had left them, if a bit cleaner: his canopy bed had been given new linens and a fine set of green velvet curtains, his desk had been cleared of old ink bottles, the little stool replaced with a more ornamental seat, and some odd items seemed to be gone, or perhaps tucked away in storage-chests. Loki frowned, feeling something was missing, and realized with a stir of surprise that his room had no rug, just smooth-cut marble tiles and a small mat by his bed for his slippers. Had he truly gotten used to years of standing on deep-piled furs? He thought he must have had a carpet at some point.

“Maybe not,” Loki muttered to himself, leaning against his desk, and nearly startled at the sound of his own voice; he hadn’t truly spoken to anyone in what felt like days. He swallowed audibly and hugged his arms around himself. The room felt small, now, too small for him or for anyone. He couldn’t imagine who would have ever been comfortable in such a room. The shadows cast by furniture and windows which had once been so impressive and frightening to him seemed oddly tame now, and shadows there were aplenty -- a grey and sullen day was quickly fading into a greyer and more sullen evening. Loki’s stomach clenched with nerves, and he stood, undoing his fur cloak and tossing it onto the bed before heading over to a tall mirror that hung on the wall opposite his desk.

Not bad, really, for his first time not being blue in several months. He admired for a moment the fact that his cheeks still remembered how to go pink with cold. His hair was dark as ever and was newly cut, with one of his knives, and the ends were curled with magic, not with any barber's skill. Loki had agonized over whether or not to leave his long locks but decided, ultimately, that the fewer variables there were to impact Thor's recognition of him, the better. Nothing was more terrifying than the prospect of Thor being too far-gone with illness to recognize his own brother.

Loki brushed a nervous hand through his hair and straightened up, steeling himself for the task at hand. _Thor will be fine_ , he thought, _and it's my duty to see my brother, to support him after his military injury_. The roiling feeling in his stomach that had been there since he first got Sif's letter seemed to intensify, and for a moment Loki felt pinned to the ground and weight of it, staring at his thin face, at his pale eyes so recently drained of scarlet.

There was a small bulge at his hip, in the silk sash Loki had fashioned as a belt for himself, where he had tucked Thor’s last letter. If nothing else -- duty, or love, or brotherhood, or a sense of interest in the fate of the crown -- had spurred him on, Loki knew that this letter would have been enough to bring him here. Before Sif had written and everything had changed, Loki had tried to write a response to Thor’s letter. _Loki-bird,_ Thor had called him. Loki had questions about that. And he had questions about why Thor had written so strangely, and what he had blotted out. Loki had questions that seemed too important, too frightening and wonderful, to ever simply _write_ about.

He shivered at the thought.

_Thor will be fine._

Finally, and with a great effort, Loki finally managed to unpin his feet and turned, leaving his little chamber and stepping quietly out into the hallway, thankful for his soft, well-oiled leather shoes, of the sort customary on Jotunheim. The healing chambers were not far, and Thor would be fine. Thor _was_ _fine_. Thor was almost definitely _not_ dead, and the fact that he hadn’t seen any healers running about or anyone preparing a funeral was a _good_ thing, and everything was completely, entirely, utterly fine and entirely good and normal. Of course.

Loki made his way down the halls, hands clasped in front of him, slightly hunched-over. He had left his fur cloak in his chamber and was wearing only a long shirt of green silk and a pair of soft pants with his boots, and despite being plenty warm now, felt oddly exposed. He half-expected to be startled by someone hiding in a corner -- to assassinate him, or crown him king, perhaps, or to tell him that Thor hadn’t really been injured at all and that whole affair was a horrible joke.

When he finally rounded the corner to the royal healing-chambers, Loki’s knuckles were white, hands clenched with nerves. For once he had no critical thoughts about how separate the royal family was kept from the other citizens, including when it came to healing-chambers; he wasn’t sure what he'd have done if the family of some other poor soul was in there making a racket, or even worse, if there had been public visitors outside waiting to see the prince.  Loki stood in front of the door, and pulled Thor's last letter from where it had been tucked in his belt. He didn’t unfold it, simply holding the parchment in his hands as if it could ward off evil spirits.

Perhaps it could.

Perhaps he should just go away and see his mother first and ask her what he should expect to find beyond this door. Perhaps it had been foolish for a diplomat of his caliber to be so very worried about his brother.

Loki decided, after a moment’s thought, that it _was_ foolish, but concluded that he was not an entire diplomat yet, and must allow in the meantime for some princely foolishness.

Running a hand through his hair once again, and doing his very best to look tall and put-together, Loki pushed open the chamber door.

**…**

The thing about being stabbed in a cave underground is that it takes very little time for such a wound to get very ugly, indeed.

Thor had previously believed that a stab wound was a stab wound -- he'd certainly experienced them before during training, and healed up alright, without incident. But that was with access to the whole of Asgard's medical staff, if necessary, though it never really had been, since such occasions had really never been cause for much alarm. A cleaning of the puncture and maybe a few stitches. Very little pain.

He certainly had never experienced quite what this was. He had felt himself weak on his feet for some days, but then had come to expect it, really, from the tunnels of Svartalfheim -- he felt stunted, impotent, underground, unable to summon lightning to his fingers, unable to hear the roll of thunder overhead even if it had come without his bidding. On a dry planet like the dwarves', there was no rain, really, or very little. The arid climate had stunned him. But it wasn't that that brought him low, as he had suspected. An episode of fevered delirium that he could not fully recall, and which no one would recount to him in any particular detail, confirmed the beginnings of septic shock.

At any rate, he lay now in a clean, warm-lit palace infirmary, and felt really rather badly for his fellow injured back at camp, though he supposed his condition rather outpaced theirs. Apparently he had hung for some days between life and death, though that seemed rather exaggerated. He remembered near to nothing of any of it, only tremendous heat and sweat and a poisonous throbbing ache in his left shoulder, a thick sluggish feeling in his blood. He remembered crying, but not what for, or what he had said. Water, likely; he remembered terrible thirst. A roiling in his stomach, probably vomit, though he wasn't sure. Beyond that the details evaded him.

He rolled over in his bed to pluck ice from the mug provided him. Plain drinking water was apparently too much of a task, still, with which to entrust the fragile esophagus of the god of war and thunder (though, to think of it, swallowing was indeed something of a pain). As Thor sucked lightly at the cool chips in his mouth he realized, suddenly, that Loki would not know to write him here, with no guarantee of forward from camp if he replied there, and that truth to tell Thor was not even sure that his own letter had made it safely to Jotunheim.

It would be a terribly lonely thing, then.

A knock on the door, small, almost timid. A servant, likely, judging from the volume, and likely a new one who still believed Thor was someone to fear.

“Enter,” Thor called, gentle as he could make it, a bit of a croak still nipping at the edges of his voice.

**…**

Loki barely waited for Thor to finish speaking before pushing into the chamber all at once, slipping through the smallest opening he can make between the doors before shutting them quickly behind him and whirling around to face...

 _“Thor._ ” Loki felt as though the air had been punched out of his stomach.

Thor was...different. Loki didn’t know where to look -- at the broader shoulders? At the face suddenly stripped of childhood softness? Or perhaps Thor’s hair, which hung in longer tresses than Loki had ever seen on his brother, perhaps a bit curled with sweat and sickness, but it didn’t matter, because Thor was sitting up, sitting up in bed and looking more than half-alive, looking, indeed, entirely in one piece; looking with wide eyes as if he was surprised to see -- 

“LOKI!”

It would have been a bellow if Thor had had all of his strength, but it came out only as a shout, which was still enough to jolt Loki from his state of shock. Thor truly looked as though he had never been so happy to see anyone in all of his days; the delight of it seemed to propel him up out of bed and onto his feet, and while he did not get very much farther than the curtain around his bed, he hung onto it and beamed, apparently thrilled beyond belief, giving the impression of an excitable dog straining his leash as he tugged at the curtain for support, trying to get as close to Loki as possible, words coming out in an excited babble. “I can't believe you -- I know mother and father didn't send for you, brother, how did you know to come? How did you -- oh, Loki, how I've missed you!”

“Get back into _bed_ , you idiot!” Loki hissed, coming to his senses; he half-stumbled forward in his haste to ensure that Thor did not fall. He closed the distance between them quickly, and reached out to support his brother before realizing that he's wasn’t quite sure which parts of him were injured.

“Are you...quite all right? Don’t go to any trouble,” he fussed, hesitating and gingerly patting Thor on the shoulder, trying to figure out where the bandages started and where Thor's white healing robes began. “I mean, can you, you know, ah…stand?”

Thor grinned at him and nodded. “I am, indeed, standing. Walking, however, is an interesting new challenge.”

Loki sighed, a warm feeling rising in his chest and nearly reaching his throat. How quintessentially, wonderfully, stupidly _Thor._ “You're an idiot,” Loki sighed. “Did you get taller? Also, hello."

He looked up at Thor --  _all_ the way up at him, for even leaned over against a curtain, Loki could tell that Thor was at least three inches taller than him -- and smiled, nervously, one hand still floating at Thor's side as if to catch him.

Thor looked back down at Loki, taking him in properly, and before he could so much as protest, Loki found himself wrapped in a tight, warm, one-armed hug.  The younger, more foolish version of Loki who had left Asgard so long ago would surely have protested at Thor embracing him so, but as for now he barely had the time, and found that it wasn’t so bad.

“Oh, how I have missed you, my friend.”

Loki shivered; he could feel his brother’s breath, hot, on the crook of his shoulder, as Thor sighed with apparent relief. He barely had time to process how wonderful it felt to be embraced -- had it been months or years since he was last held, by a mother or a brother or a father?–before Thor was letting go and shuffling himself back down to the mattress, settling slowly upon it and patting the blanket beside him.

“Come sit with me before someone finds you out,” he said, clearly half-beside himself with delight. “I want to hear everything of your escapades. Surely you can't deny me when I’m so grievously injured! How in all the realms did you know to come, you troublesome thing?”

Feeling distinctly ruffled, Loki leaned back and perched on one side of Thor's bed, taking a moment to smooth out his tunic and tuck a few stray pieces of hair behind his ears.

“It was Sif's letter. Mother and father don't know I'm here, but I sent them a raven saying I wanted to come, and they didn't say _not_ to, so...” He trailed off with a shrugged. “Here I am.”

Thor _beamed._ “You snuck in to see me.”

Loki wanted to roll his eyes at this, but found he couldn’t, not with Thor looking at him like that, and indeed, the tension and fear and stress he'd been holding in his stomach for weeks and weeks suddenly seemed to be coming unfurled the longer he sat on Thor’s bed. He pressed on, words suddenly coming much easier:

“From her letter, I didn't know...I mean, if I'd known you were still up and talking, I'd have tried to hold off, but it sounded like perhaps you were...maybe worse off than I'd ever thought you could be...and I just, you know. I wanted to be sure.” Loki let out a long, rattling breath, mouth dry, looking away from Thor’s glowing expression with a wry smile, hands clasped in his lap.

“Her letter. Sif’s letter.” Thor's brow furrowed. “First I've heard of her sending one, to be forthright with you, but I remember little.” He swung his legs back onto the bed, the movement stiff and slow. “And I was up and talking, for some days, until I wasn't anymore. I am lucky it was caught so early, truthfully, because had it been any later it really could have been much more of a question." He looked down at Loki with a grin. “My first big battle and all I got was a case of blood poisoning.”

Now Loki _did_ roll his eyes. “I think I’ll take it.”

Thor chuckled, settling more comfortably back onto the bed. “Aye. At any rate -- I'm really awfully glad you're here. I wrote you a letter, but I don't know if you ever received it, or truthfully, really, remember much of what I said.”

“Oh?” Loki frowned slightly, thinking of the feverish crossings-out that had so spurred his curiosity. Thor seemed immediately embarrassed; he coughed lightly and ran a hand through his long hair, a flippant gesture, as if to imply the matter was of no consequence.

“Yes, I mean…that was probably my first day of fever, looking back, though I still had my senses, I think...it's all really a hot sort of blur. And very dry.”

Loki looked back at Thor, saw his smile, his nerves, and made a quiet decision to himself not to show him the letter. Instead, he leaned forward under the pretense of helping to straighten Thor's blankets and did a quick bit of magic, swapping the letter in his hand for another, much neater piece of parchment which he had, indeed, been carrying folded in his pocket.

He must have given up some expression of anxiety, however, for as he leaned in, Thor settled a hand gently on his shoulder, the hand attached to his better arm. “And you, little brother. How have you fared, these years? From the look of you, my guess would not be too poorly.”

“I've been well,” Loki said carefully, leaning back, though not far enough to loosen Thor's hand from his arm. “And I missed you, as you well know.”

“Mm.”

The reply hung in the air for a moment before Loki could bear it no longer; he felt nervous about this next part for some reason but it was stupid, really, to feel foolish about a gift, and if it got Thor to stop staring at him, he’d happily take it.

“I don't know if the fever drove _all_ the memories away from you, but...well, Kvasir said that under the circumstances I had better have a get-well gift to give you, and I told him that I'd steal something good from our library as thanks, so...”

Loki opened his hand, offering the scrap of parchment to Thor, who took it with a curious smile.

“It's that poem I mentioned,” Loki continued. _“Not_ the dwarven love poem. The one about, uh, green. You know.” It felt stupid and small, now that he said it, but he had barely finished before Thor was reaching for the little paper with delight.

“Oh you _really_ shouldn't have, Loki,” he gasped, apparently genuinely warmed by the gesture. Loki watched as he unfolded the parchment gingerly, noting for only a moment the contrast between Thor’s large, worn hands and his own small, delicate ones.  

Thor stared at the parchment for some time, chin resting against his chest as he lay slumped against a pillow.

“Oh, I told you,” he murmured, finally. He looked at Loki with wide eyes. “I know you can't -- _can_ you see it? Emerald green. I guessed as much.” He coughed a little, again, looking embarrassed at the emotion that had suddenly crept into his voice. “And this _Kvasir,_ who gave you this,” Thor continued, a little chastising. “I am _certain_ I asked you about _him._ ”

Loki’s stomach sank at Thor’s words.

“He's just a friend,” he muttered, trying desperately to avoid the heat rising along the back of his neck, and wished very much that the parchment's spell had not worked, that Thor had cracked a joke; somehow it seems so _stupid_ that Thor really would see emerald, just as he had written, or that he would sound so fucking _sentimental_ about it. It all seemed wrong and foolish and stupid. Was Kvasir even a friend? A friend was someone to be confided in. Loki tried to imagine telling Kvasir about Thor seeing emerald, or even about Thor’s letters, and felt his stomach lurch with some unknown emotion, like it might crawl up his throat at any moment and run in the opposite direction. This wasn't supposed to be what seeing Thor was like, not now that Thor was clearly fine and not at all on death's door. Loki pursed his lips and continued to stare at his hands, trying to instead to simply think of Kvasir and his blue eyes and kind smile, but that felt wrong, too, and that somehow made things worse.

“He's…” Loki felt the burning need to explain himself, to ensure that Thor knew what was really going on. “He's not doing anything wrong, you know. He's just a friend and he's kind to me."

He smoothed his tunic again, and suddenly felt Thor’s warm hand on his shoulder, heavy and reassuring.

“I do not mean to embarrass you, brother, I apologize,” Thor said lowly, and with great feeling. “I am glad you have company there at court, far as you are from us. In truth, I don’t know what it is, really, that has made me so suspicious and disinclined to trust this…Kvasir, who surely has shown you nothing but kindness. It’s just that you had this…this worshipful tone in writing of him. And for some reason or another it made me worry.”

 _“Worshipful?”_ Loki asked, incredulous, finally looking at Thor in order to glare at him. “It didn’t occur to you that I was just lonely? That I didn’t have anyone to talk to, even if I had someone to write to?”

Thor blinked, arm slipping down Loki’s shoulder. He glanced back down at the parchment in his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “For this. It really is very lovely and I appreciate it.”

“Mhmm.” Loki took the opportunity to examine the parchment himself for a moment, and sure enough, it was the grey-green color of sea battered by storm winds. _Lousy poetry._

“It's...well, it's the least I could do,” he said.

“Certainly not the least.”

“Maybe not. But it's not embarrassing, you know, I...” Loki let the silence hang, staring again at the green of the parchment. “I mean. I think you should know that...with Kvasir. I never meant to worry you, I only...I only wanted to make you a little jealous, honestly.” _Jealousy._ That was what it had been about, really, after all. That felt truer than many things Loki had said this evening.

“Well.” Thor cleared his throat, still slumped on the bed. “You certainly could have done a worse job of that, I think. To be truthful, I think if anything I was jealous of him because he got to spend time with you. And I missed you awfully and felt especially lonely after I was felled.”

Loki nodded. “Right. Of course. I didn't embellish much, I just think....well, he was the one of my friends who was most like you, and he _is_ a kind soul, really, I'm sure you'd like him. I think I just wanted you to know I was doing fine, since I made such a fuss of leaving at first.” Loki brushed the hair away from his face, the tight, guilty feeling in his stomach still spurring him to explain himself. “It seems silly now, I suppose. All I could think of when I was coming here was how cross you seemed to be with me about... _whatever_ it was you thought was going on between me and Kvasir, I guess.”

Loki paused, thinking of the letter now tucked away in his belt. His neck felt quite warm, and he shifted slightly on the bed, crossing his arms, wishing to be made smaller, somehow, but he continued, the words pouring out now. “I just was worried, about how...how to go about addressing it, I suppose. I was just thinking, you know, to explain why I might seem so, uhm, flustered about it all...because...because I was worried about how if...if you didn't get well again, and if it was the last letter you'd ever sent me...how it'd be...so _stupid_ to waste time talking about all that nonsense.” Loki’s throat felt hot, his voice choked with feeling. “And I'm sorry for even trying to make you jealous like that.”

The words seemed to hang in the open air. Loki sniffed slightly, smiling weakly from his perch at the end of the mattress, trying to shake the strange feeling this revelation had stirred in him. Thor still seemed to be expecting something, so he continued hesitantly.

“...You're the only brother I want, honest.”

As soon as he said it, it felt wrong. It was a reasonable thing to assume Thor would be jealous of, but as Loki watched his brother’s expression fade from teasing good humor to masked concern, or perhaps confusion, it occurred to him that Thor had never once seemed to imply that Loki might have anything remotely resembling a fraternal feeling toward Kvasir at all. And Loki felt sure now that he _was_ jealous, all the same, of him -- by Thor’s own word, and, indeed, by the tight-set way he seemed to take in this entire confession -- surely Thor was jealous. Even as Thor nodded and gave a small smile, Loki could see it written in the lines of his face.

“Of course, Loki," he said, sounding as though he was holding back a small tempest. “I’m sorry to have worried you so with such a silly trifle, the whole thing, really. I was never angry with you, I swear it. I just...well. I was worried.” He waved it away with his hand. “It’s a thing of the past, you know.”

Thor hesitated. “Although...I can't remember if I – if I really asked you about it or if you answered. But know, brother, that if...if it _was_ so, with him, or with anyone, it would be alright, you know. I hope I didn't make you feel that it...that it would not be alright.”

Loki raised his eyebrows. “That was quite a lot of ‘ifs’ and ‘its,’ there.”

“Aye. It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure it has.”

Loki stared at Thor, arms still crossed.

"I...I hate this," he said, finally.

Thor blinked, apparently surprised. “What?”

“Just...I missed you. And I feel like it's all different now.” Loki shrugged slightly, scooting slightly closer to Thor. “I just feel sick, I guess. Maybe it's from traveling or something.”

“I suppose it is,” Thor agreed, with another heavy sigh. He leaned back, regarding Loki solemnly. “But I missed you too, dearly. And it'll be alright, won't it? We just have to get used to each other again.” He laughed a little, tilting his head to one side. “It's strange, you know, to see you move. And your face, and how much older you seem now. Not because _you're_ strange, of course. Just. Putting the pieces of you back together in my mind.”

Loki nodded, understanding at once. “Oh, yes, it's like -- I mean, it's the same but I also was used to you changing over time, you know.” He turned a more critical eye to Thor's face, now, really taking his brother's appearance in. “Are you going to grow a beard, eventually?”

Thor grinned, rubbing his chin a little bit. “Oh, you’ve noticed my attempts? I have a little of one under my chin already.”

“Do you?”

“Do you want to feel? I expect nothing less than Father's by the time I'm a man.”

Loki’s eyes widened at the prospect. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. “What?” And then, to cover what must have sounded like the clear, unquestionable interest that it was, he followed up with a nervous chuckle: “You _are_ a man.”

But Thor was having none of the deflections, it seemed. “So are you. What’s the point in saying so? You want to feel it?” he insisted, eyes bright. “I think you do.”

“I don’t need to feel anything to know that you’re a man, honestly, Thor...” Loki’s face felt hot again, but Thor was already reaching out, reaching out for his wrist, and Loki let Thor guide his hand to below his chin.

_Oh._

Thor's neck felt...very warm. Thor's hand felt very warm, and indeed, it was wrapped all the way around Loki's wrist with ease, holding Loki's hand playfully to the underside of his chin and neck. As he drew closer to Thor, nearly bumping up against his brother’s legs in his haste to be tugged forward, Loki could see that Thor's skin was smooth, the pockmarks and bumpy skin that Loki remembered from childhood are a thing of the past. Thor was breathing and Loki could feel it, and they were sitting so terribly, wonderfully close on the bed.

From somewhere far back in Loki’s mind came the impression that the room has grown _sharp_ _._ Sharp was the only way he could think to describe it; there seemed to be too much detail in everything, everything that he could see and feel and smell. It occurred to Loki that perhaps he had been doing touching all wrong, throughout his entire life, up until this exact moment, because he never recalled ever being so shocked and content and _interested_ in the sensation of the warmth of skin on skin before. Perhaps it was this particular part of the body; the flutter of Thor's breath, maybe? But no. Loki was sure he had touched nearly every part of Thor in some passing way; as boys they shared everything.

But it was not enough, of course, that Loki felt this at the moment -- of course not. When had things ever been easy for him? It would have been all right if that was all; it would have been quite alright, really, with nothing to worry about, if all Loki had felt was a sense of shock and awe at his brother's graceful exit from boyhood, and a newfound interest in the concept of touch, a remedial course in warmth that he had been denied for all those cold years on Jotunheim. But even as Loki touched Thor, he could feel his mind burning with questions about something else entirely, questions which he knew -- he _knew --_ would forever go unanswered after this moment, questions about the letter that is currently folded over four times and digging into his hipbone where he had hurriedly tucked it into his belt.

Loki allowed Thor to hold his hand to his throat and gazes down at him, mouth slightly open.

He could barely see Thor. He could see very little, even as the sharpness of the scene washed over him, because deep in the pit of his stomach, the urge to ask Thor what he meant in that last letter is writhing, and Loki felt himself force it down.

 _“I know many such men here who are my brothers in arms as any other, though it is a clandestine thing I suppose— I confess myself_ —”

And then nothing, nothing but blotches of ink and the overwhelming questions.

And now this.

Loki knew, more deeply than he felt he must ever have known _anything_ , that he could not start a conversation about that letter, because if he did, he would have questions that he would get no answers to, because he, Loki, had questions that were terribly, terribly wrong, because something about _him_ was terribly, terribly wrong.

He blinked at Thor.

“Smooth,” he said.

For a moment Thor met his eye with some terrible apprehension, visible even through the haze of warmth and strange new feeling that flooded Loki’s senses. What caused it, Loki could tell not at all, but he _saw_ it, certainly, and then it was gone.

Thor cracked just the half-moon of a smile.

"If I did not know you better, little brother, I would call you jealous," he teased, cuffing Loki underneath his own smooth chin. Loki, for his part, was both startled by the contact and almost too stunned to feel it at all, still feeling like he was blinking into the sun, still trying to put whatever this was together. "I suppose I will have to grow mine for the both of us."

It did not do anything whatsoever for the tension in the room. Loki sat, curled on the edge of the jump, beside Thor, caught between the inexplicable urge to leap up and sprint from the room, and to come closer, to feel more thoroughly, to explore. _Why?_

It took him a moment to realize that Thor was still holding onto his hand.

It felt hot in Thor's grip, and Loki swallowed audibly, mouth suddenly very dry. "I --" he started, then closed his mouth again, looking up at his brother with wide, terrified eyes, like a mouse startled by sudden torchlight. Could Thor not _see_ ? Did Thor not _feel_ this?

It seems impossible that Loki could be the only one grappling with the strange, terrifying burst of heat and confusion that had blossomed in his chest. The moment could have been cut with a knife, so thick was the tension between them, and yet Thor was smiling and bright as ever, as though nothing in the world mattered very much at all. It felt almost like a betrayal, like Thor was being deliberately foolish. There was no universe in which he could possibly not realize what was happening to Loki, right beside him -- it was beyond Loki, even, how it could not be happening to _him._

Bracing himself, Loki tried again, and his voice sounded very small, but he refused to let the moment go, to let it drop away unexplored, no matter how terrifying the implications of doing so might be.

"Thor," he breathed. "Thor, why'd you do that?"

The apprehension Loki had seen flash across Thor’s face moments ago returned, this time looking almost tinged with nausea. Like Thor couldn’t answer, or didn’t want to, or both. "Why did I do what," he asked quietly, and let go of Loki's hand, sending a sudden rush of loss up his arm. "I was only showing you, little brother."

"You know. Come on, Thor, you...this is strange, right? Me being here? You? All of this?" Loki's voice cracked halfway through the words, and he rose and stepped away slightly, stomach feeling as though it was being clamped together with hot tongs. Thor looked confused, perhaps even angry, but no memory of their childhood arguments or the roughhousing that ensued was strong enough to deter Loki from trying to pursue this. That wasn’t how he _operated._ Not now, not ever. If Thor was hiding something, or if there was a lie to be found out...Loki would find it.

 _"Please,"_ Thor breathed, with a note of desperation coloring his voice, and Loki felt his own ears prick like a bloodhound’s, and he knew that, whatever it was, Thor _knew,_ possibly knew even more than Loki himself _._ And he was trying to ignore it. Loki would not permit him to ignore it.

Thor cleared his throat a little and spoke louder, more clearly. "It's not strange. You're my _brother._ You're welcome to come and visit me."

"But...but our letters.” Loki’s voice came out still smaller and more nervous than he anticipated, to his irritation. “I just...and when you. Thor, it's like I realized what I'd been writing about...”

Loki folded his arms across his chest, but not in defense; he folded in on himself, looking around furtively, half-expecting someone to pop out from behind a tapestry, and then looking back at Thor with desperation. He felt a frightened, pathetic terror that made him feel very insignificant indeed. "This whole time, brother...I know you're my brother, I know it's not strange to be here, but...but..."

He trailed off.

Loki had only just realized it himself, but Thor had _done_ things, he was certain of it. Thor had done things _with men_ and Loki had spent hours and days just mulling and thinking that over in his head, obsessing over it until it ate him up and the corners of Thor's letter were worn with being turned over and over again, and now Thor was touching him and standing there all real and _very_ tall and handsome and saying he was _jealous_ of Kvasir, jealous for what? And why? And if Thor didn’t tell him soon, Loki was sure he would go mad, feeling half on the edge of it already.

Thor, for his part, had started shaking his head slowly in a way that made Loki’s stomach sink. "Loki. I don't -- you _can't._ Do you understand that you -- it's not _possible,_ Loki, this can't -- it can't. Please don't."

It felt like a betrayal. As though Loki would have ever come here, right up against this feeling he couldn't name, on his own, as though Thor hadn’t called him sweet names and claimed to long for him and talked to him in ways no brothers he had seen had ever done. And Loki didn’t know what he wanted, or why he wanted it, but if Thor would claim to play no part in that particular turn of events then Thor was a _liar,_ more so than even Loki himself.

"Loki," Thor continued, "I don't --" He was repeating himself; he cleared his throat and started again. "It was no intention of mine, brother, to try to lead you somewhere you ought not to go. And I'm sorry if you -- if I -- I am the elder brother, and it is my responsibility never to take you astray. And if I -- if I was too candid, or if my depth of feeling inappropriate -- I am _sorry."_

Loki took a step back.

And another, and then two more, and he tripped backwards on the long blanket trailing from Thor's sickbed and almost fell over.

He blinked very hard, feeling a red blush creeping up the back of his neck. Indeed, everything seemed quite red. The room spun. He could have vomited.

"Don't -- don't apologize. You didn't do anything. We didn't _do_ anything."

Loki tried to avoid it, but he felt his throat constrict and tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes. "I'm -- I'm just asking you to be _honest_ with me for once in your life, Thor, come on...come on. It's all over your face. You think I can't tell? You think that just because you're older and have gone to war you know more than me?" Loki's voice took on a hissing quality now, pressed as he was to ensure this did not become a shouting match and draw the attention of guards or passers-by. "Well, you're wrong. I'm smarter than you. I've always been smarter than you and I know -- I _know_ what you're going through, because I'm going through the same, and you're -- you don't even care! You don't care at all!"

Loki wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, furiously, glaring at Thor, his fists clenched. "All I'm asking you to do is _talk_ to me and you won't even do that! You'll write to me for months and months and be jealous of any man who talks to me but you won't talk to me now, is that it? Is it?"

"What do you want me to say," Thor snarled, keeping his voice as low as Loki's and still managing to startle him with his sudden anger. Thor had always had a legendary temper. _It didn’t come through in his letters,_ Loki thought bitterly. He had forgotten.

"You want me to say that this is fine, is that it? That we should just -- Loki, do you know the gravity of what you're implying? I don't -- I don't know how to tell you that I genuinely did not mean to imply that we -- that this relationship is anything other than what it _is._ I cannot believe that is something I have to spell out. It was not my intention to try to convey to you that I --" Thor dropped off, appearing to give up on whatever he was trying to say, and stared for a moment at the floor.

"I am talking to you,” he said. “And I'm telling you that whatever you want me to do right now is something that I can't do, that I _won't_ do, and it's something you can't go around _wanting._ If this is -- if this is what you want, Loki, it will _destroy_ you. I mean it."

"So you'd rather treat me like an insolent, stupid child, is that it? And tell yourself that it's for my own good, because you know _so_ much better?"

Loki set his jaw and crossed his arms again, then crossed the room, closing the distance he’d built up between himself and Thor.

"Someday," he said, and his voice was velvet smooth now, dangerous, below the range of the most icy whisper. "Someday, _brother_ , I'll have walked more of this world than you have; you'll see. I'll be wise beyond my years, and you'll have to admit it."

Loki grabbed Thor's hand in a flash, drawing it much like Thor had drawn his hand to his chin moments ago, but too quick for Thor to protest, and clasped both hand and fist around the front of his tunic; the tunic which was the same green that Thor had described minutes ago, because of course it was, of course Thor saw it, and the spell on that parchment did not lie.

Loki stared into Thor's eyes, holding his hand in a vise-like grip, daring him to do something, _anything._

"I'm not _treating_ you like a child, I'm treating you like a man who can grapple with the consequences of his actions," Thor barked back. For all his bravado he seemed rattled by Loki’s sudden proximity, and then he grit his jaw and took advantage of the grip Loki had given him and the little strength he had to yank Loki down to his eye level, where he sat on the bed. Despite Loki’s best wishes, it forced a gasp from his lungs. The swiftness of the gesture nearly knocked him off his feet, almost falling forward _onto_ Thor.

"That may well be, brother," Thor replied. Loki can sound sharp when he wants to, but the bitter fact of the matter was that when Thor spoke, it began to rain. His voice was low and threatening, almost ugly. "But as for _now_ I am telling you that this is something that you cannot have. You cannot take what you please and damn everybody else. And," he swallowed, "if I am what you want then I am telling you you cannot have me. I won't allow you to ruin yourself over an ill-thought whim, I _won't."_

Loki took stock of where he stood, his legs still tangled a little with Thor’s. He pushed back, scooting away on the bed as far from Thor as he dared, and he heard the rain outside, and looked daggers at his brother, as if every bad thing that had ever happened to him was Thor's fault. And in the moment, it really did feel like it.

"Fine," Loki said, coolly. "Fine. We haven't even really said what it is, there's no harm in abandoning it now, is there, _brother?"_

He looked at Thor and wished, for a moment, that the fool had stayed underground. Or that he, Loki, could have taken his place and been buried forever in some dark dwarven keep, away from the complexities and horror of what was unfolding here.

His voice softened for a moment as their actions hit him -- how entirely wrong this has all gone -- and his icy demeanor wavered slightly. "I'll just--we'll go back to how it was before. Or I'll leave you alone. Whichever suits you best." It occurred to him, now, that he was losing Thor entirely. The loss felt too wide and horrible to be real.

"Whatever suits you best," Thor said quietly, swallowing hard and pushing himself back against the pillows. His anger had dissipated in a hurry; now he looked only defeated. "Because clearly whatever I believed best was the wrong path to set you on."

Loki felt, for a moment, some sorrow, and then wondered, very suddenly, what Thor's lips would taste like if he were to try and kiss them.

He simply wet his own lips, ran a hand through his hair, leaned back and drank the sight of Thor in.

If this was to be the last time he saw his brother...well, so be it. Loki had already decided he would never have another in all his days, and Loki was _not_ easily dissuaded.

"You didn't do this to me. We did this to each other." He rather hoped Thor appreciated that, as Loki was inclined to push the blame onto him altogether.

Loki stood up, running a hand over his tunic as if he hadn't just thoroughly wrinkled it himself.

 _"Do_ try not to eat yourself up with guilt over it."

It would be some time before he realized it, but Loki would remember that moment -- standing and addressing Thor, who looked so pathetic on his pillows with his bandages, so different from the warm, loving soul he had been mere moments ago, and he would remember it as the moment that something changed. Perhaps it was a decision, a choice not to let this go. Thor surely would; perhaps, Loki thought as he backed away once again from Thor's bed, he would chalk it all up to the fever and a few too many hormones.

But Loki resolved to do no such thing for himself. His torture was laid out for him in full, and if he had to carry it for the rest of his life, so be it. Such a feeling -- for one such as Thor -- was not to be hidden away, even if it meant agony.

"Indeed, brother, I'm sure you and I will laugh about this someday," he said, and it sounded like a stranger was speaking for him; Loki was focused entirely on memorizing every inch of what his brother looked like at the moment.

He backed away again, glancing at the door, and decided it was best to make a quick exit. Before Thor could protest, he strode across the room and turned the handle, looking back at Thor in the hopes that some romantic gesture might follow his departure.

Predictably, none came.

This was the end of them, then -- Loki would no longer have the reliable joy of Thor’s letters, nor the hope of ever visiting him again, not that either would be well-advised now, in this state.

"Sure," Thor said, dully. "I'm certain of it." He didn’t look certain. Loki certainly wasn’t, either.

Thor managed a feeble, sober little wave with his good hand.

"I suppose I'll see you when you're home next, then."

If Loki had his way, that would be never again. But there was the opportunity for just one last little barb, and though Loki wanted it to come out sharp and mocking, when he said it his voice broke on the words.

"Just promise not to stop writing me."

And then he stepped away, out into the cold of the hall, and closed the door.

**...**

Awake in the infirmary long into the night, Thor told himself that the entire thing had been a particularly horrible dream. Indeed, as the hours wore on and healing spells wore off, it seemed more and more likely. A terrible thing of him, to put thoughts like that into Loki’s head, even in a dream -- or if Loki had come after all, then surely Thor had misunderstood his intentions. By the time his head hit the pillow, hazy again with fevered vagaries, he had nearly convinced himself he had made the whole thing up.

Yet all through the night it stormed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left lovely comments on our first chapter! The next one should be up very shortly.
> 
> Also, just to make clear for any curious readers: at this point in the narrative, Thor is about 17 (almost 18). and Loki is about 15 (almost 16.) There wasn't really a need to put any teen-romance related warnings on this story, since this is the last time you're going to see our boys this young. I usually head-canon them as being about a year and a half apart in age; at the start of our story, Loki is about 12 years old. A baby! I love both of them dearly.


	3. In Which Thor Stops Writing

Dear Thor,

 

Please forgive my shortness as I know it has been nearly a year since we last wrote. However I would like to advise you that I am traveling to a remote encampment in the southern region of Jotunheim with a diplomatic envoy and will not be able to write to anyone on Asgard for some time. I can send this with no further details to you as my actions are being monitored carefully in anticipation of a sensitive mission, and so I know this is not much a letter at all, for which I hope you can forgive me. In truth I wanted to write mainly because the nature of my work is far from without risks to my life. It seemed a shame to go so long and never settle this silence between us with a message of my good will towards you. I do not care to trouble you by addressing the events leading up to the end of our last correspondence and instead simply want to say that I remain as always

 

Your brother,

Loki

 

* * *

 

 

Loki,

 

My apologies for the delayed response. We have been much engaged militarily on Asgard as well and as such my posting address was shifted some months. As a result I have only just received your message and hope that its reply finds you in good health.

I have just returned from a base in Vanaheim, upon which we have been aiding our allies in a skirmish against the Black Elvish stonefolk. Little is known as to the cause of the trouble, but the homes of the Vanir are unsuited to the destruction such a species may produce. Not any terribly great issue, but occurring in several villages in quick succession caused some delay in what was on its own a swift battle.

At any rate I am home now and thank you for writing. I hope again that you are faring well.

 

With regards,

Thor

 

* * *

 

 

Thor,

 

Apologies again for my late letter. As usual it sounds as though you are keeping busy. It appears that your last injury was enough of a lesson to make you a more prudent soldier, for which I am grateful, as I am unsure whether a further injury to your person could draw me away from my important work on Jotunheim.  Father has told me you have become quite the popular figure on the battlefield these days, which fails to surprise me; and mother says you have become quite the popular figure in the royal court, which does surprise me. I for myself have been taking great care to immerse myself in my studies, although there are some interesting developments in the makeup of the royal court -- namely, that I am now a part of it.

And by the by, brother, it may please you to know that the tutor who irritated your jealous affections so long ago has been placed in a permanent state of academic leave, at my own request. The scholarly functions of the palace do not want for qualified help, although I must say that I have kept some of his finer books for myself, as I could not bear to part with them. I thought this might amuse you to know. Send my best to mother and father.

Yours,

Loki

 

* * *

 

Loki,

 

I would be inclined to agree with Mother and Father both, with no intention to sound boastful. My life has proceeded in much the predictable fashion, and I have gained a degree of some seniority among the ranks of warriors. And while court and its concerns seem often frivolous matters, I have progressed there with some success as well. Having been involved of late in some number of personal entanglements I feel confident in stating that I come nearer every day to begin the process of settling as a crown prince ought. Should all go as to what is presently planned -- at least on my own account -- I will have to ensure you are appropriately introduced.

I am glad to hear you fare similarly in Jotunheim and have returned intact to your diplomatic post. Send your academics my warmest. Mother and Father give their love.

 

Best Wishes,

Thor

 

* * *

 

Thor,

 

Glad to hear this. Sorry for taking so long to write, these last few months have been a trial to say the least. I assume from your silence on the matter that no happy announcements are in the wings. Remember, brother, that I am always at your disposal should you need someone to confide in on these matters. I have become a confidante to many in recent years, and am told that, diplomatic training aside, I am quite up to the job of steering overzealous suitors in the direction of subtlety.

I am sure you have heard of my recent accomplishment putting down a ring of insurgent thieves on northern border, but if not, do ask father. I'm sure the gory details of it all will be most entertaining to you. It would appear that the fighting in Svartalfheim may start again afresh quite soon if we cannot control Jotunheim's greedier thieves. For your sake, given your history with that place, I hope it is not so.

 

Best,

Loki

 

* * *

 

Loki,

 

You are of course correct on this measure -- that is, that no happy announcements are in store, but there is not any reason for great heartbreak. I was relieved to take the advice of our king, for Father believes firmly that there are better matches in the world for me than those ladies I have heretofore pursued. I find in this stage of my life that it is best to do what is best for the crown, and at present I have been advised to stay the course and hold off some time on marriage, till I have further victories and honors beneath my belt with which to bring greater pride to the house of a wife. I envy you some your relative freedom in this matter and hope you do not feel too pushed to deny whomever may pursue you there on Jotunheim if you feel there may be good in it.

Indeed I was impressed with your work and am pleased to have received the report. Thank you for thinking of me.

 

Best,

Thor

 

* * *

 

 

Thor,

 

Well, brother, you have always done what's best for the crown, after all. Excuse my quick note; I am traveling again and will not write for some time. As for myself on Jotunheim, I must speak the rare truth and inform you that my nights are spent quite alone. Perhaps things will change once someone sparks my interest properly. I am sure summoning sparks of genuine interest comes much easier to you these days, dear brother. Do have the best of luck working on tucking all those honors under your belt, won't you?

 

Yours,

Loki

 

* * *

 

 

Thor,

 

I hope this letter finds you well. I would like to apologize if my last note communicated any ill feelings towards you; it was not my intention. In truth I sense that keeping up this correspondence has become a chore for us both, which, as we are busy princes, is perhaps not so very surprising. I therefore release you from any sense of obligation you might feel in writing to me. I will see you again, though, my brother, at the end of next year, as it has already been decided that I will return to Asgard after this next diplomatic mission of mine is complete.

I am sure you think on our boyhood as fondly as ever, and I will understand this lapse in communication to be nothing more than that, a lapse. Try not to grow up too quickly before I arrive; I would hope to recognize at least some part of you, upon our reunion.

 

-Loki

 

* * *

 

 

Loki,

 

Never a chore. I confess I was not sure what to make of your last letter and apologize for my failure to respond. But it is true I have been busy, as I am sure you have as well.

I am very glad to hear of your return and hope to see you in good health, though I am sure we may be near strangers to each other in appearance. I hope Jotunheim treats you well for the remainder of your tenure there.

 

Best,

Thor

 

* * *

 

 

Thor,

 

Never worry. Thank you for the response. I am indeed in good health and Jotunheim treats me well. I will have many stories to tell indeed when I return, and when it comes to appearance, brother, I hope I will not be so very strange before your eyes. Not everything can change in the span of -- has it been four years now since your injury on Svartalfheim? I believe so. In any case, things are quiet here. I wish you the best.

 

-Loki

 

* * *

 

 

Thor,

 

I will travel to Asgard on the first day of spring, in but a few weeks. I know it has been some time since we wrote, but in case mother and father failed to alert you, I wanted to make the imminence of my return known.

 

-Loki

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as "the Norse epistolary romance novel equivalent of getting left on read." Strap in for the next one, folks, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.


	4. In Which Thor Has Difficulty Sleeping

Thor rarely found himself thanking anyone for anything these days, but if he’d been in the habit, he’d have built a small shrine to the powers that were responsible for Loki’s most recent letter being delivered late.

Very late.

Days late, perhaps weeks. And, blessedly, it had arrived in the early morning, in the hands of a servant who sheepishly offered it up, slightly crumpled, and explained that it had been sitting in the bottom of a pile of mail for some time. Thor had scanned the letter, given the servant a tight smile, and excused himself.

_Thor,_

_I will travel to Asgard on the first day of spring, in but a few weeks…_

If Thor had had to sit with the letter at the end of the day, with nothing to do but try to sleep, he didn’t know what he would have done.

But again, by some blessed twist of fate, the letter had come that morning, and although spring itself may have been weeks away officially, the frost hardly lasted in the mornings. Back in his chambers, folding the letter into a tiny rectangle and shoving it into his desk, Thor had said another silent prayer of thanks that is was warm enough for him to throw himself all the harder into training and exercise to distract himself. Indeed, he had planned on taking a day off, but had concluded that such a thing was impossible.

Thor considered all this, at least in the back of his head, as he dove past Sif, missing her swing with a wooden short-sword by mere inches and landing on his back with a hard _thud_ in the packed-down earth.

“Aye, that was a good one,” he coughed, putting a hand to his chest and catching his breath.

Sif regarded him dubiously, swinging the sword behind her to rest on a shoulder.

“It wasn’t, even, though,” she said. “You have something to talk about?” 

Thor stood with a grunt, brushing off his pants with one hand, as if it did anything other than drive the dirt on the leather deeper into the grain. This was something Sif had started saying, lately, as prelude to figuring out whatever Thor was feeling.  It had been _“You have something to talk about?”_ when Thor had been about to ship off to Vanaheim last year; a period of particular moping after a failed attempt to woo the daughter of an important lord had once earned him an _“Anything to speak on, my prince?”_  Sif spoke of her troubles too, of course, and Thor was not above patting her shoulder during a bout of rare tears, but these had come less frequently since she’d properly been enlisted as a warrior. Thor didn’t mind; he supposed that ladies and warriors alike should be able to weep, and anyways, Sif was a far better sparring-partner than any of the men in the palace. She wasn’t _distracting_ , was why, and it boggled Thor’s wits that none of his friends, who clearly found Sif as handsome and charming as Thor did, did not clamor for her time on the practice grounds. Thor was quite proud of himself for having caught onto it early; surely it was a sign of maturity and of his attentiveness to the appeals of women.

Thor thought on that as he smiled at Sif, whose usually pale cheeks were splotchy-pink with exercise and the biting air.  “Perhaps,” he said, “But it barely warrants the words, really. I’ll find something better to say whenever my head is far from a fight.”

Sif shrugged, as she often did when Thor avoided conversations like this; Thor was grateful she had neither the interest nor the desire to ever push him before he was ready. “Works for me,” she said, turning around and walking to the starting-place, her honey-colored braid visible from behind, tucked as it was into her armor. “But think of it while we take another round, won’t you? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

Thor thought on no such thing during the next round, or the one after that, or during any of the five other sparring-sessions he had that day, both with Sif and with anyone else who happened to be free at the moment. By the time the night came, Thor was so exhausted that he felt his muscles must have been _screaming_ with it, but as he traipsed back to his chambers, he was disappointed to find that this effect seemed to lessen with every step, and by the time he reached his chamber-doors, his mind was entirely occupied once more with thoughts of the letter.

Thor stripped naked the moment he entered his room and fell onto his bed at once, not even lighting himself a candle, gazing blankly up at the vaulted ceilings, which were currently periwinkle-grey with shadowed moonbeams.

“I know very well that you want me to read you again,” he said, as if the folded square of paper in his desk could hear him. “Well, I won’t.”

The letter, as paper is wont to do, failed to grace him with an audible reply. 

Thor turned over onto his side, away from the desk, his eyes squeezed shut.

_I know it has been some time since we wrote, but in case mother and father failed to alert you, I wanted to make the imminence of my return known._

It wasn’t that he had _meant_ to stop writing to Loki. He really hadn’t, it was only that he had stopped knowing what to say, how to talk to him, how not to feel like a fool with every scratch of his nib on the paper. And he had lost his ability for candor, as well, or perhaps his willingness. Little of what he had written could be considered an outright lie, but Thor had certainly switched details, smoothed things over, made himself look on paper more stable than he felt in the flesh. He felt that every morsel of truth he scattered across the page was exposure, or ammunition, or something else, and had proven that very well enough when Loki had mocked him outright; the phrase “best of luck tucking all those honors under your belt” haunted Thor near-daily.

Thor felt a flash of anger, recalling how he had felt when he’d first read that letter. It was tucked, like all of Loki’s others, in a wooden box he kept on his nightstand, but it had taken some effort not to throw that one in the fire. He wasn’t even sure what had struck him about it, but it stirred his nerves and rage every time he recalled it. It felt like an accusation. Didn’t Loki understand that he wasn’t just some royal cad, working his way through the court? He had written of his affairs, certainly, but he was trying to do what was _civil._ He was trying to do what was _right._

Perhaps it was truly that Loki did not understand, his position being so diametrically opposed to Thor’s own. As the second son, having been groomed all his life for diplomacy instead of the crown, he was under no pressure to marry, or even to consistently behave in ways that would be in accord with his royal title. If he seemed strange, eccentric, even off-color, it was perfectly acceptable -- indeed, many of his idiosyncrasies had been dismissed all his life as part and parcel of his Jotun nature, and as he got older, of his affiliation with the Jotun society in which he lived. He didn’t _have_ to be a perfect Asgardian, because his job was to _understand_ the crown, not wear it.

Thor’s job, on the other hand, was rather quite exactly to wear the crown, and to wear it as well or better than his father had.

He swallowed down a lump in his throat. This was Thor’s least favorite part of the night, the weary lucid moments right before sleep, when minutes seemed to be hours, and thoughts that might later seed nightmares danced into his head unbidden. He supposed that some people might commit this time to more pleasant thoughts, or fantasies, even, but Thor had decided early on that this was not good behavior for a prince. He accepted that, perhaps, due to the general good fortune brought on by his days, that it was only fair his evenings might be less pleasant.

Thor thought of Loki, as he often did at this time, and tonight the words from curtly-written letters which usually slipped through his head at night had fresh company.

_I do not care to trouble you by addressing the events leading up to the end of our last correspondence and instead simply want to say that I remain as always, Your brother, Loki._

Thor groaned and cursed the night, burying his face in his pillow. He _hated_ that letter; that one had been the worst of all of them, since it had been the first of all of them, and it reminded him all the more sharply that he had not written Loki first. But how could he have? In good faith, how could he have led him on again?

It was ridiculous, really, to feel guilty for something that should not, and indeed could not, happen; the whim of a younger brother who had never had to be told what was at stake in his every personal decision, who had been permitted by and large to do what he pleased so long as he studied hard and learned the responsibilities inherent to his work. Who had not had to be shaped and molded as Thor had. Thor was only being _responsible._

Their mother had sat Thor down, once, soon after his return from tour of duty in Svartalfheim and Loki’s swift departure, and she had begun speaking to him about decisions important not only to the life of a king, but to the life of a god. As a king, it was only suitable that Thor should look soon to take a wife; as the god of fertility, imbued with certain powers and symbolisms, it was good to be...cautious of where he found himself entangled. This with a meaningful look Thor had yet to forget all these years later. There were two meanings to his mother’s words, he felt, and both became immediately apparent -- of course, not to go getting any young woman who crossed his path into trouble, but also, _well_. Thor’s face colored even to remember it. Not to _waste_ himself.

Thor was lucky, in some sense, for his life to be laid out in front of him so neatly, and that it was a life that most men strove for: he would marry, have plentiful children, build the royal family strong and bring further honor and glory to their house. Perpetuate the legacy of the bloodline that had ruled Asgard since its beginnings.

It was horrible that Thor was so horribly, dreadfully, absurdly lucky and blessed. He had a path, a duty, and it was not a heavy one, even. It simply required that he life a well-disciplined life.

…Which, of course…

“Nnn,” Thor grunted, and tried very hard to imagine anything else in this world. A herd of goats, perhaps, marching across a grassy hill. A sunset. The taste of good mead. A list of the names of important generals. A—

_Which of course meant none of the strange, hot, shadowy dalliances he’d experienced on Svartalfheim, finding himself glancing too long at his brothers-in-arms, ending on some few occasions with a man in his bed under cover of darkness._

Thor gave in.

Yes, _none of that_. None of it at all, _thank you, brain_ , _in all of your wonders, for the bright reminder of this_ , not that it mattered, since he had never gone farther with a man beyond some deep kisses, fumbling with each other under covers until they gasped into each other’s mouths, never having to look -- as if not looking would make the entire affair unreal -- but the memory of them flamed his blood, whenever he forgot himself and remembered. It was foolish, and none of it mattered; Thor had concluded long ago that there was nothing of himself in these memories. There was only an untamed, foolish boy that he had been before he had realized the blessings and duties of the throne, and _everyone_ did that their first time at war, after all. And it was not as though Thor had not realized his blessings later, and accepted them with ease! He had concentrated on pursuing ladies of the court, given only the momentary reprieve of being told not to rush himself, as betrothal waited in the wings for him (and Norns only knew what that would hold).

But Loki had no such blessings, no such barriers, and Thor would get no proper sleep this night, because of the letter that announced that now, _now Loki was coming home_ , and by whatever means, Loki _knew,_ and wanted Thor for his own, besides.

And the thought of that was too terrible to even consider.

Thor had _known_ the look on Loki’s face, that last night he had seen him. Known it not from having seen it, but from muscle memory, through the wide icy terror of his own blown-wide lids, behind the teeth of his own locked jaw, not looking at Loki, but looking at men, looking at men, stoked half to smoking, curls of ash and tinder in his belly. Known it and desperately tried to deny it, to forget it, to tell himself he had dreamed the entire thing -- and sometimes, often, even, that worked, too. Fool he might be, but Thor was very good at believing what he wanted to believe, closing his eyes to what he could not bear to witness. He felt often that if he had lacked that particular skill, he would have gone entirely mad.

Perhaps he would yet.

Thor sighed heavily and got up, sore-stiff legs pounding on the floor. He cursed as he stubbed his shin on his desk, taking the letter Loki had written and jamming into the box on his bedside table so as to avoid having to do so in the morning.

Even so enclosed, it seemed to stare heavily back at him as he struggled his way into slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little shorter than I'd intended; originally I wanted to include Loki's return, but I think this update is a good idea. One of the challenges of writing from RP logs is that no matter how verbose me and @sifjarlit are, long pages of solo writing are a slog when you're doing things live. Big ups to her for this one, by the way; most of this is her writing. On my end it's been nice to fill in what Thor is going through, though, repopulating it from the flashes of internal thought that we had to cut out of Chapter 2 to keep things in Loki's POV. Thank you all for the lovely comments, by the way; they mean the world to us! I'm so excited for what the next chapter holds. :-)


	5. In Which Thor Visits A Friend

The next few weeks passed, to Thor’s great distress, entirely without incident.

Time seemed to be flowing in great leaps and sudden halts: one moment Thor found himself panicking as another day zipped by, the next he could feel his nerves holding him captive as instances of idleness seemed to slow the minutes to a crawl. He tried to avoid thinking about how the entire palace was abuzz with activity, but the imminence of Loki’s return permeated everything: he heard the cooks excitedly discussing what Jotun dishes were to be served at the feast, saw his father walking through the gardens to choose flowers for the floral arrangements with the head decorator, and even snapped at Sif when she asked him over breakfast “whether or not there would even be ice sculptures at this damn thing.”  In his wilder moments (usually those before sleep, when memories of Svartalfheim would bubble up as they nearly always did), Thor quietly hoped that some horrible catastrophe in a remote part of the universe would require Asgard’s immediate attention, and that he himself would be called to the front lines of battle, not to return for a hundred years.

This, of course, did not come to pass, and so Thor simply had to bear it out. Things might have been easier if he had been dreading things outright, but on top of (and perhaps in spite of) his terror at the prospect of seeing his brother again, and no matter how much he wished to delay their reunion, Thor could think of little else other thanLoki.

Of course, this was not a new feeling: even after their falling-out, Thor had been unable to shake the feelings of longing that had plagued him ever since Loki had been sent away to live on Jotunheim. The first year had been the worst: he remembered laying under his covers alone at night and sobbing, throwing bitter tantrums that did not become a boy of his age until his father had sat him down and explained why a future king could not afford to make such a ruckus. The tantrums had subsided, but the longing had not, and now Thor found himself thinking fondly about Loki at odd moments and with greater frequency than ever: it would surprise him while he bathed, or in the middle of training, or when his thoughts wandered listlessly during a boring tutoring session.  
  
After one such session, mere days before Loki was to return, Thor found his feet carrying him out to the stables. Evening was rushing in, and the sunset that hung low over the horizon was one of the first blistering-orange ones of the season, beckoning in an early spring. The light cast austere shadows across the short-mowed training fields, and glanced up again to the heavens in puddles formed by rain in divots of mud kicked up by sparring warriors which, set all to amber by the perishing day, took on the glinting quality of diamonds. The walk was just long enough to clear Thor’s head, and the path he had taken was blissfully free of any passersby. When he finally arrived at the stables, he found them equally unoccupied, save of course for the horses. Thor looked around, a bit nervously.

“Hello?” he said, and his voice sounded strange in the dry, empty corridor. He walked along some of the stalls, patting one chestnut mare on her neck as he passed. “I know you’re here, little friend. Can’t I see you?”

Thor came to the center of the stables and turned left, towards the room where the stable hands would take their meals. Thor had passed time here more than once, playing cards and allowing himself to be entertained by the way everyone tried to hold back their palace gossip in front of the prince. Tonight, however, he was seeking company of another kind.

“Hello?” he said again, quieter this time. Thor looked around the little room, at the scrubbed wooden table with a few papers and a crumpled napkin on it, at the hooks on the wall where heavy, weather-resistant cloaks hung for stormy days. He crouched down, peering beneath the table, and sure enough--

“Loke!”

Thor grinned at the sight of a black-and-white cat, curled up in a tight little circle, snoozing in a small wooden crate. He reached out a broad hand and stroked Loke’s back; the cat made a small _Mmr_ of acknowledgement at the touch and opened his eyes.

“I’ve missed you, my little beast,” Thor muttered, scritching under Loke’s chin. “I’m sorry I don’t have any treats for you, I promise I’ll bring fish next time.”

Loke seemed to accept this, and rolled onto his back so that Thor could crawl under the table properly and rub his fuzzy belly. He had grown into quite an odd-looking cat from the spotted kitten Thor had been so taken with; for one thing, Loke seemed to not quite have decided whether he wanted to have long or short fur. Small tufts of silky white hair fluffed out between his toes, and Thor brushed a thumb over one of Loke’s front paws, admiring this. It had been some time since he’d visited with any of the barn cats, Loke least of all. He remembered how Volstagg and Fandral had reacted when they learned the cat’s name, teasing him viciously for having such a pet. Thor had long since forgiven them, but he had also kept Loke in the barn from then on. He believed this was preferable for them both, anyways; there were some spotted black kittens in the barn these days who Thor was quite sure belonged to Loke’s personal lineage. Thor smiled down at the cat, still not quite sure why tonight of all nights he had wanted to visit him. The darkness was fast creeping in, and it was becoming hard to see much of anything in the small stable-room, but Thor remained crouched under the table, petting Loke and occasionally receiving a reproachful swat on the hand when his caresses displeased the cat. It was not until Loke sat up entirely and, with a stretch, got up to pursue other pleasures, that Thor realized how late it had gotten.

“Hey! Come back!” he said in protest, and sat up too quickly, knocking his head on the table. “ _Ouch,_ ow, that--that hurt--Loke, come _back_!” Thor called after him, scrambling out from under the table, and suddenly the good mood that had been briefly sustained by his visit to the barn seemed to crash, and Thor realized he was standing in a dark room with a sore head and nothing to show for it. He felt exhausted, worn thin, and to his dismay he felt hot tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, a burning feeling in the back of his throat, and he sniffled loudly to keep a sob at bay. He’d had far, far worse injuries than a knock on the head, after all, but the stress he’d felt for the past few months seemed finally to be bubbling over beyond his control. He wanted desperately to talk to someone about how he felt, _anyone_ , but the only person in the world who he had ever been able to talk to about how he really felt was Loki, and Norns, but he _missed_ Loki, he really did miss him, and Thor sank to the floor and buried his face in his knees with a muffled moan as an overwhelming feeling of loss washed over him.  

He just wished things could be how they used to be. He missed being able to talk to Loki late at night, using so many in-jokes and nonsense words that their conversations practically constituted another language. He missed complaining to Loki about their father’s demands or about their mother’s rules; he missed how, when Loki was upset, Thor used to be the only one who could make him laugh, usually by relaying watered-down versions of rude jokes he had overheard the palace guards telling each other. He missed writing to Loki, really _writing_ to him, about whatever had been on his mind. Thor felt a tug of sorrow as he remembered how, before his injury and before Loki had tried to ruin it all between them, the thought of writing a letter to his brother had buoyed Thor through his day like nothing else: he had often felt, back then, that an invisible thread linked the two of them together, and that he was not alone in the universe, since he had someone to summarize his days to, someone who would really care, and really listen, and bring something new to whatever topic he had happened to be musing on. This clarity on what people thought and how they might behave--that was one thing he sorely missed, and could certainly use some of now. There was a quiet way Loki had of assessing anyone or anything; as children Thor had always waited to hear Loki’s thoughts on someone before passing a final judgement on them, because it was almost always correct. Thor remembered the first time his mother had explained to them where Loki had come from. At the time, it seemed the luckiest thing in the world to Thor, that Loki had been given up as a baby and _chosen_ by Odin to be his brother, for there was no natural reason at all for them to be such good companions.

Thor squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, shaking with near-silent sobs. His face was still pressed up against his knees and the damp leather of his pants, wet with tears, smelled musky and warm. It was oddly comforting, and he took deep, steadying breaths. A small, warm something bumped up against his shin, and Thor raised his head to see Loke the cat rubbing his head against his leg.

“ _Loke_ ,” Thor croaked, with another enormous sniffle. Loke blinked slowly back up at him, nuzzling on his leg again, and Thor felt a fresh surge of emotion, scratching the little cat behind his ears. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, little one. I really don’t know. Do you have any wisdom for me? Hmm?”

Loke, it appeared, did not, but he did flop onto the dusty concrete floor with a heavy thump and rolled onto his back again, purring loudly. Thor smiled weakly, dancing his fingers across Loke’s belly, so that the cat batted at his front paws, clearly quite entertained.

“I...” Thor started, and then swallowed heavily again, put off by how sad and harsh his voice sounded in the empty room. “I don’t know what to do, Loke,” he continued, quieter this time. “I don’t think I’m ever going to be happy.”

Maybe that was how it was meant to be, Thor considered. Perhaps if he was to be born into the good fortune of being a prince, a warrior, then this was the toll he had to pay in order to move through the world. It seemed oddly fitting, a good balance, after all. Perhaps it would teach him something about restraint, about the value of his position.  
  
This was not, somehow, a comforting thought, nor did it assuage his fears about Loki’s return. Thor wasn’t even sure _what_ he feared at this point: did he think Loki would make some kind of scene? That he would never forgive Thor for spurning his advances? Thor tried to imagine their reunion, tried to picture what a grown-up Loki would look like--he had already looked so grown-up the last time they had been together!--and pictured himself bowing to him in a diplomatic fashion, imagined Loki surrounded by Jotun officials, smiling at him, offering him a hand to shake. It had to escaped Thor’s thoughts that Loki must surely have had, despite the cryptic content of his letters, many an adventure of his own, both in life and and in love, and at that thought Thor’s stomach seemed to curdle up with fear, because perhaps _that_ was worst of all---the idea that this had truly been nothing more than a passing fancy to Loki, that he had already worked out a solution to his own torture, and was dealing with it far better than Thor ever could. It had been so much easier to imagine them trapped together in this fate, or to imagine that Loki was whiling away his days in longing, but hadn’t Loki always been better at this? Hadn’t Loki always been quicker, more adept, more handsome, far better at getting what he wanted without consequence? Thor stared off into the space in front of him, coming to terms with how he had barely heard from his brother in four years. He had _no idea_ what Loki had been up to, and it was his fault for scaring him off, for peppering his letters with his own twisted fears and desires, for putting those thoughts into Loki’s head when he was still too young to recognize what they were. It was far more likely, now that Thor thought about it, that Loki had simply given up on talking to him because he resented Thor for giving him that glimpse into his true nature. If something had been ruined between them, Thor surely was just as much to blame as Loki was.

Thor resolved, then and there, to pull himself together. What kind of brother would he be, if he was still an open wound while Loki was surely returning home in a flurry of success and excitement? Perhaps Thor could even ask him how he had handled it, seek advice, be his brother again. It now seemed absurd to him--absurd and narcissistic, even--that he had just _assumed_ that Loki would be obsessed with him, that he would pay him so much mind or view him with such scrutiny. There was a real and proper chance that Thor could be his brother again, if only he did not let on that the mere _idea_ of Loki still confused him so deeply and painfully that he felt his chest would snap open at the weight of it. And perhaps, if Loki had learned kindness as well as diplomacy, he could find it in himself to forgive Thor, and might even listen to his problems, as Thor would surely listen to Loki’s, should he have any to discuss.

Thor stood with a grunt, brushing off his trousers and bending down to gather Loke the cat into his arms. If he was to feel miserable for the next few days, he might as well have some company. His feline companion exhibited an uncharacteristic level of calm as Thor walked out of the stables, occasionally rubbing his cheek against the soft fur on Loke’s head. It was truly night now, and the swirl of stars above his head were as clear and glorious as ever. The bright air seemed to soothe the stuffed, hot feeling in Thor’s head and throat as he walked; Norns, but he hated weeping, hated feeling like he would burst if he did not weep, and hated how red and puffy his face must surely look. All the same, Thor felt as if something seismic had shifted beneath him; surely he was meant, in some fated sense, to have gone to the stables tonight and have this realization. Indeed, just as the path he walked back to the palace was clear-cut and well-marked, so his own path seemed now to stretch out before him: he would not assume that Loki was as tortured as he was, and would offer the open arms of brotherhood, and ask forgiveness. If there was one thing he could assure himself of when it came to Loki, it was that he served his own ends before all others, and in Loki’s wisdom, he must have concluded that to pursue anything beyond the bounds of tradition would resign him to a life of misery.

In a dark, cruel section of Thor’s thoughts, the reality that he had been _hoping_ otherwise presented itself. Perhaps it was true; perhaps he had wished that Loki was still so attached to him because of something deep within his _own_ heart, some mix of jealousy and desire and confusion that Thor could now recognize as a flaw he must overcome.

But he would overcome it, he resolved as he shouldered his way into his chambers, letting Loke (who was squirming indignantly by now) leap from his arms onto his bed. If not for himself, he would overcome it for Loki, who did not deserve to have a brother who squirmed at the prospect of speaking to him even as he missed him so dearly. After all, they were fated to be companions, were they not? Yet Thor was also fated, it seemed, to make a choice, to draw their fates between him and decide how to weave the thread. Well, his fate would tie itself to Loki’s, that was true, but as they were meant to be: as brothers, if not in blood, then certainly in bond.

* * *

 

On the eve of the day itself, when Thor was standing in his mother’s chambers to be refitted once again for his formal attire (it seemed he could not stop growing these days, mostly broader, in the shoulders), Frigga quietly asked him if he was excited to see Loki again, and Thor, quite incredibly, found himself answering _yes_.  

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, another Thor chapter! I'm sorry for the late update, thank you all so much for your lovely comments and continued support <3 This has been an odd hill to get over: I think I mentioned last time, but the beginning of this fic (when sifjarlit and I started it almost a year ago) was once quite different, and so ironically the oldest chapters to revise and revisit are the very first ones. I've been struggling with how much of Thor's inner thoughts to showcase, but I wanted to write out this scene, and I'm quite excited to move on to their reunion in the next chapter, which should be up much sooner than this one was. I'm glad I got to introduce you all to Loke the cat, at least. Anyone who has ever cried in front of a cat knows it's quite therapeutic. 
> 
> Thanks to my friends in the Thorki discord who took a look at this, and of course to my collaborator for her patience in giving me free reign to rework some of this writing. I love you all dearly.


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